


Matter of Time

by WinterTheWriter



Series: Building Happily Ever After [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Doctor Who/Marvel Crossover, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, LOTS OF CONSENT, M/M, Multiple Personality Disorder, Panic Attacks, Post EoT, Post-Winter Soldier, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Civil War (Marvel), Proper communication, Respect for boundaries, just trust me, this is not crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Koschei falls out of the Void after the events of "End of Time," he's not used to being in control of his own body anymore. The Master is silent and dormant after all these centuries, but when the Doctor turns his back on him, Koschei leaves the universe in search of an escape from his past, a place where he can do good and become the person he's always wanted to be. </p><p>Some things go according to plan. Most things don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I know how this sounds. Here's the background, though: I've been writing this reformed version of the Master for seven years now, mostly on Twitter and in my own mind. I have in-depth, thought-through reasons for why I see him like this, and I realized after watching Civil War that he and Steve Rogers would mesh really well if given the chance. So I hunkered down and wrote over 20,300 words worth of this brand new ship, with more to come. Since this fic is already completed, it will NOT be abandoned. I'm posting the first 3 (and this prologue) all at once, and then after that, updates will be once a week. Please, let me know what you think and enjoy!

Light. 

Piercing light, through the darkness, shining and blinding and painful.

Nothingness turns to a glimmer of something, a possibility in a realm of impossibility. 

Just a little, just a little.

Reaching, grasping, snatching like a mad beast.

Closer, closer.

Almost, now. Unattainable becomes attainable. Nonexistence gives way to reality. 

Scrambling, now, desperation and hope intertwining into determination, into ambition. 

Emotions exist again.

Consciousness returns.

The nightmare finally ends, an eternity of nighttime finally breaking into dawn. 

Closer.

Closer. 

Closer.

Closer.

~

Koschei wakes up in a field, somewhere in the English countryside, with the clothes the Master wore when they were thrown into the Void. 

He sits up with shaky limbs, hissing out as they scream in protest. This body is still in a state of constant deterioration, but it no longer threatens death. 

Gods, he's sore. 

He looks around and gets used to being dominant in his own body again, remembering what it's like for his hand to listen when he wills it to move, to stroke through the blades of grass and idly toy with the little ants in the soil. 

With a sigh, Koschei stares up at the sky, getting used to life buzzing through his veins without the drums in his head. 

~

It was like...a lucid dream. 

Or a movie. A never-ending, top-notch horror film you watch from inside your own head.

He wasn't /unconscious/, all these centuries, just...paralyzed. Literally trapped in his mind, forced to watch everything the Master did to innocent people, to the love of his life and all his friends. He remembers every second of it, and he spent most of it screaming and begging for it all to stop. Through death, or bodily paralysis, or imprisonment, he didn't care. He just wanted the people to stop hurting. He just wanted to be free. 

The Master, of course, didn't care. Even though his existence formed as a coping mechanism to the drums in their head, he fractured into his own person with a shared body, so separated from Koschei that they would have mental arguments and screaming matches more often than not. 

Koschei was weak, though. He was so weak and fragile that screaming was all he could do, no matter how he fought (and oh, did he fight) to escape. Sometimes, he'd splinter through. Sometimes he'd gain just a little bit of control for the Master to say or do something just /slightly/ out of character, and it was never much, but he could always see the hope that flickered in the Doctor's eyes and that made it /so/ worth it.

The Void...it didn't integrate them, not by a long shot. Koschei had regained control about 5 minutes before they fell in, him and the Master actually working together to stop Rassilon and save the man they both loved so much (even if the Master's version of love wasn't exactly healthy). But the Void took away the drums with Rassilon, and that endless, unknowable not-time spent in it let Koschei come back to himself. The Master became dormant and quiet, weakened by Koschei's strength.

Then the crack. Then light. Then...soft grass and frigid air. 

Koschei tells the Doctor all of this, sitting hunched on the med-bay's table in the TARDIS with his head down and his hands wringing in his lap. The Doctor listens, patient and beautiful as always. 

His hearts clench and his eyes water at how much he loves him.

"It's for you, Theta," Koschei murmurs, his voice still gravelly from lack of use. "I only bothered to fight for you. Only bothered to live for you. Otherwise I'd've thrown myself off a bridge the first chance I got."

The Doctor exhales slowly, nodding to himself as he absorbs this. "Right. Well. I...I must admit, Koschei, I never expected you to come back. I thought I'd lost you, well and truly."

"You haven't. I'm here, I promise you, I'm not--"

"And," the Doctor cuts in, "I was rather glad for that."

Pain stabs through Koschei like a physical thing, and he looks up at the Doctor with wide, vulnerable eyes. "I don't understand."

The Doctor laughs once, shortly and mirthlessly. "No, you never did, mm? Not when it mattered." Koschei doesn't know how to answer that, so he doesn't. He stares, his eyes pricking, and he steadfastly ignores the Master's imagined, faint taunting in the back of his head. The Doctor slowly walks closer to Koschei, arms crossed in front of his chest. "Koschei, this...this wasn't your fault. I know that. I know you wouldn't hurt a fly, even if that fly punched you in the face or whatnot. But you didn't really try very hard, did you? Sure, yes, you say you did, but I never saw any true effort. 

"And I've got to say, watching you do all those horrid, terrible things...I fell out of love with you in my fourth body, Koschei. And then, all those little hints, well, they were just reminders that you only cared enough to try when it wasn't very hard."

Horror and self-disgust fill Koschei and chill him to the bones. "N-no, no, I swear I tried. Theta, I tried /so hard/, but I was weak, and I..--"

"I honestly, truly, am not interested in your excuses, Koschei. I am /so old/, now, and I've been through so much. You may not be directly responsible for the Master's actions, but I hold you personally accountable for all those times he was vulnerable and you did /nothing/ about it. Now, your wounds are treated. Please, get out."

"We have so much history together, Thet. We were together for so long, you MARRIED me, /please/," Koschei rasps, tears burning down his cheeks.

"I was alone and you were there. Needs must, as the humans say," the Doctor says, more cold and emotionless than Koschei's ever seen up close. This was the Oncoming Storm, in every way possible. "Leave, now. Don't come back. Don't contact me. 

"And please -- call me the Doctor."

~

Koschei has a flat, now. He pays for it with the funds he still had access to from his time as Saxon, and he does some freelance IT work when he can. He doesn't bother making friends, or trying to find a lover, far too jaded and bitter to see the use.

The Doctor was right. He wasn't, but he was, and it kills him to think about. 

He's a monster, Koschei is. A monster by force, but a monster nonetheless. And Koschei can't help but remember that he will never be anything more. 

Oh, how he wants to be better. He wants to redeem himself in the Doctor's eyes, and give back to the world the Master spent so long taking from. And that is what keeps him going, what stops him from pulling the trigger and giving up. That is what, one day, gives him the idea to leave and travel somewhere dangerous, somewhere he can do good without getting in the Doctor’s way. He packs up his things only a day after making his decision, strapping a vortex manipulator to his wrist and punching in the proper coordinates and settings.

This is dangerous. So ridiculously dangerous, to try and do this with a vortex manipulator, even when a normal TARDIS is barely able to do it. But, with a deep breath and a longing glance towards the sky, Koschei presses the commencement key, leaving behind a barren apartment in a barren universe that never wanted him in the first place.

His hands are red. So red, dripping and oozing with the blood of someone else's victims. 

But he will scrub them white, if it's the last thing he does.


	2. Chapter 1

“Let me get this straight, Fury: this homeless dude shows up on your doorstep, claiming to be an alien, asks to be an Avenger, and you think, ‘Yeah! Why the hell not?’?’’ Tony asks with crossed arms and an incredulous look on his face. Bruce hides a laugh behind his hand and Natasha takes a well-timed sip of her coffee. Fury rolls his eye and shakes his head, lips pursed in that severe frown he seems to always wear.

“I didn’t /just/ accept him, Stark, not that the acceptance process is any of your damn business —,”

“It’s mine, actually,” Steve cuts in, raising his hand. Fury just continues like he hasn’t been interrupted and Sam laughs out-right until Steve elbows him.

“I didn’t add this ‘dude’ based off claims alone because I’m not the /fucking idiot/ you seem to take me for. He’s ‘bout as strong as Cap and ‘bout as fast as Nat, and like it or not, he’s also smarter than you. And,” Fury adds, face cracking into a smile, “you should /see/ how high he can jump. That ain’t even a full list of what he can do, so shut the fuck up and stop questioning me, got it?”

Tony rolls his eyes and kicks his feet up onto the conference table, sipping his coffee. Natasha pipes up, leaning forward onto her elbows. “How do you know he’s an alien, exactly? We’re all human here.”

“He has two hearts, Miss Romanoff, and he can /see through time/.”

“That’s, that’s…conclusive,” Clint nods, looking impressed. 

“Would he consent to experiments?” Bruce asks softly, smiling.

“Given the fact that ‘experiments’ on me usually involve vivisection, I’m going to pass,” Koschei says, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a firm line. “And, I’m sure this is going to be embarrassing for you all, I am /right here/.” 

Silence.

Very, very uncomfortable silence. 

Koschei mentally sighs. 

Finally, Steve breaks the tension with an easy smile, standing from his chair and walking to Koschei with an extended hand. “Don’t take it personally, Kos…Kah….Kosha..—,”

“Koschei.”

“Koschei, sorry. I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful addition to the team and we’re very happy to have you.” The words sound rehearsed and practiced, but Steve’s eyes are so sincere and warm, matching the open smile that curls his lips, and Koschei can’t help but think they have /some/ note of sincerity to them. Relaxing his stance slightly, he shakes Steve’s hand firmly and quickly.

“Thank you, Sir. I’m very grateful for the opportunity to do some good.”

“Call me Steve, please. You’re already doing good, just by being brave enough to join.”

“Jesus Christ, what Lifetime shit is this?” Tony’s groaned question is swiftly followed by a Natasha-sounding slap. Koschei clears his throat awkwardly and takes a small step back from Steve, who looks at Tony in confusion.

“I don’t get that reference,” He says.

“Well there’s a shocker.”

“Man, shut the fuck up,” Sam replies.

Koschei did not expect a room full of superheroes to still be so human, and he isn’t sure how he feels about that. With an awkward grimace, Fury pats Koschei on the shoulder and tells him where his room is, and with a last glance at the new team he’s somehow become a part of, Koschei goes off to unpack. 

~ 

“Sooo,” Tony starts awkwardly, drawing out the word as he moves closer to Koschei on the couch. Koschei pauses and looks up from his book, bracing himself. He’s only been here for a week and Tony and Bruce’s /obsession/ with his “alien” nature has gotten nearly insufferable. They /always/ have questions, and they’re never questions Koschei wants to answer (if he gets asked about his genitals one more time, he’s going to convince them both he has sentient tentacles in his pants). “What planet are you from, exactly? Because you’re not our first alien, but the other was more of a god than an actual, you know…alien.”

“You wouldn’t know it,” Koschei replies, voice firm and barely civil. “It didn’t even exist in this universe.”

“Right. Yeah. I still don’t believe you actually just popped in from another universe.”

Koschei shrugs. “You do not have to believe it, Tony. It is the truth regardless.” 

Tony lets out a “pfft” and crosses his legs on the coffee table. “Ya know, it wouldn’t kill you to be a bit more sociable. Smile, maybe. Your face probably won’t crack.”

Tense. Uncomfortable. “I did not mean to cause any offense.” 

“Takes a lot more than that to offend me, E.T. Just saying, though. You’ll have a lot more fun here if you try and actually be friends with us.” Koschei opens his mouth. “Wait, don’t tell me — you’re not here for fun, right?” Tony smirks, teasing easily. Koschei humphs a bit and shifts his weight on the couch.

“Fair enough. I assure you, Tony, I don’t dislike any of you. I am simply not a social creature, and I have no desire for that to change.”

“Suit yourself. Good luck gettin’ past Cap, though. Including people is sorta his thing. Now….what was the name of your planet again?”

Just like that, the awkwardness is gone. Koschei rolls his eyes without actual annoyance at the question and decides to throw the dog a bone. “Gallifrey.”

“Cool name. Why aren’t you there instead of here?”

An inevitable question, but Koschei’s been dreading it. Some subjects never stop being sore. “There was a war. We lost. My planet is nothing but dust particles in space, now,” he replies, words measured and low. Tony’s quiet for a few moments before clapping Koschei on the shoulder.

“Look on the bright side. You got a new home, now. Free wifi and everything,” he laughs, obviously uncomfortable with the turn the conversation took. Koschei couldn’t agree more. 

“Right, yes, well. Wifi was always the thing I missed most.” Tony laughs again, relief obvious, and Koschei feels himself relaxing along with him.   
He could get used to this, he thinks, opening his book back up again when Tony wanders off back to his shop. He isn’t entirely sure how long he’ll actually be here, and it isn’t even guaranteed there’ll be a fight, but he’s making an effort. 

He’s making a real, genuine effort to be good, and that has to count for something.


	3. Chapter 2

Koschei’s first fight happens only 3 weeks after he joined the Avengers, when the suit Tony was designing for him is still just a sketch in a notebook. He changes into an exercise shirt with the stretchiest sweatpants he owns instead, moving so quickly he nearly rips the fabric. The others give him a strange look when he catches up to them, but he just clips on an earpiece and charges head-on towards the robotic, giggling rats that seem to multiply almost as quickly as they spit acid. 

At first, there’s a bit of awkwardness in his fighting with the others; like the tuning of an instrument for the first time they struggle to find where their notes fit together, how to harmonize. It’s figured out quicker than Koschei expects and soon enough, there’s a pile of robo-corpses in front of Penn Station and cameras flashing all around them. It’s Koschei’s first public appearance — aside from Steve tweeting a candid of Koschei’s face over breakfast with the caption, “#NewTeamMember! #HesAnAlien! :),” his addition to the Avengers was never brought up. He’s nervous about how he’ll be received, but before he can dwell on it, Clint is swinging a friendly arm over his shoulder and complimenting how Koschei had thrown the robots directly into the path of Clint’s already-flying arrows.

“I mean, shit. That’s quite some aim you got. Especially for someone so short,” Clint grins as they walk on board the QuinJet to go home. 

“I hardly see what my size has anything to do with it,” Koschei retorts, sliding into a seat and buckling up.

“That’s what he said!” Tony calls from the front. Clint cackles and moves up to high-five him. 

Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat with a sigh, but he smiles when he glances at Koschei. Koschei scoffs and picks a thread off his sweatpants. “Thank you for that, Tony.” 

“No problem, E.T.” 

“Back to the land of adulthood, boys. I radioed in and clean-up is on its way, so we’re dismissed. There’s a briefing of this battle in about three hours and every single one of you,” Natasha pauses to glare meaningfully at Clint, who grins bashfully in reply, “is expected to be there. Got it?” Everyone murmurs their acknowledgement and she settles back into the pilot’s seat with a satisfied quirk to her lips. 

The ride home is quiet, the exhaustion of the fight finally setting in and making the atmosphere heavy and slow. Bruce has already nodded off, blanket firmly cocooned around him, and Sam looks like he’s about to follow. Koschei takes the time to glance around and observe, taking in the easy camaraderie this team seems to ooze. He knows it didn’t start out that way. Besides simply watching “The Avengers” as a fictional movie in his universe (although who knows how much of that was accurate?), there’s a depth to everyone’s interactions, just a little something that hints at a past struggle.

Koschei, in some ways, envies them for the loyalty they share between each other. Actual friendship is still nowhere near a good idea for him to have, but he watches them and he remembers when he had relationships like that, lifetimes ago and lifetimes away. 

He wonders, idly, if his mind will change. He wonders if he’ll be this close with them at some point. The thought is both comforting and dreadful.

There’s a movement out the corner of his eye and suddenly Steve is sitting next to him, a shy little smile on his face. “Hey,” he says, keeping his voice low so he doesn’t wake anyone up. “A little birdie told me you wanna keep your distance.”

Suppressing a groan, Koschei raises an eyebrow at Steve. “Does this birdie happen to enjoy whiskey and flying around in a Transformers knock-off?” Steve laughs and covers his mouth to muffle it as he nods. Tony pipes up with a derisive, “Rude!” from the front of the jet, promptly followed by Sam groaning sleepily and slapping at him. 

“Don’t look so scared, Koschei,” Steve chuckles. “I’m not here to try and change your ways. Part of being a team is having mutual respect for each other and our boundaries.” Koschei relaxes a bit and Steve takes that as a sign to continue. “I just wanted to let you know that you can let me know if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable, and if you ever change your mind, consider this an open invitation to any outing or event we go to. No pressure, no expectation, no judgement. And, of course, if you ever have a complaint or just need someone to talk to, I’m right here.”

Koschei’s a bit taken aback at Steve’s words, blinking owlishly at him and furrowing his brows. “Yes, er….thank you, Steve. That means a lot. I sincerely hope you lot haven't taken offense — it truly isn’t personal. I’m just…solitary.” 

With a friendly smile, Steve pats Koschei’s shoulder and then keeps his hand there, the weight heavy and warm and comforting. Koschei shifts slightly and the hand falls away. “No offense taken whatsoever, I promise. If we can get used to the idea of you being an alien from another universe, I think we can accept you being solitary with relative ease.” Koschei laughs at that, short and aborted when he realizes how foreign that feels to him now. 

Steve, however, only beams. “First time I’ve seen you laugh. I’m honored to witness it.” Koschei lets out a little “hah” at that, looking down at his lap and shaking his head. 

“To be honest, Steve, it caught me by surprise as well.” 

“You should let it happen more often. From a purely…non-friend perspective, I hear it has some health benefits. Or something.”

“Purely non-friend perspective, hmm?”

“Of course. Strictly professional. And, it is also my professional opinion that you have a lovely laugh.”

Alright, Koschei prides himself in his self-control, but he is far too gay to handle Steve Rogers casually flirting with him. As it is, Koschei lets out a strangled sound he covers with a cough and nods importantly, putting on his greatest faux-professional face. “Yes, of course. I thank you for your professional opinion, Captain.” 

“Good evening, Avengers, this is your pilot speaking. We are now beginning our initial decent into the lovely Avenger’s sky-dock. We’re going to do a couple barrel rolls up here in case a superior is watching, so hold on!” Natasha trills over the loud-speaker, coating her voice with that saccharine retail-worker voice. Clint puts his hands up and “whee!”’s and Bruce and Sam groan as they start to wake up. 

Steve gives Koschei another smile and a wink as he gets back to his seat, and Koschei briefly wonders how long he can survive with only one heart beating. 

The landing is smooth, and Koschei finds that he feels lighter now, more relaxed. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever be ready to attempt a solid relationship of any sort with anyone again, but he thinks the idea is just a little less impossible. It’s a nice thought. He glances at Steve as everyone stands up and gathers their belongings, and fights another smile. Yes, it’s a very nice thought indeed. 

As they walk off the jet, Tony mumbles tiredly as he rubs a hand over his face. “I could’ve sworn I heard Koschei laugh in my sleep.” 

“Definitely a dream,” Koschei assures. Ahead of them, Steve glances over his shoulder with a wink at them (Tony letting out a small sound of teasing disgust), and Koschei nods to himself before repeating, “Definitely a dream.”


	4. Chapter 3

The following months blend seamlessly into one another, and with each one that passes, Koschei finds it increasingly harder to keep his distance. Everyone is wonderful, in ways Koschei never would’ve expected. It’s not perfect; there are arguments and disagreements and media drama, but he’s embraced with open arms. He doesn’t feel like a visitor, he feels like a resident, just as much as the rest of them, with all the drama and strife that entails. 

He’s guilty, though. No one, not even Fury, knows about the Master. No one knows that just the mention of his name can have entire planets crumbling in surrender in his home universe. Sure, everyone has their demons. But there is no sin, no crime any of them could’ve committed that measures up to the things the Master has done. He’s not sure if his past even matters, as long as he never worked for HYDRA or something, but still. The shame is too fresh and deep. 

For now, he’ll enjoy everything as it comes, as much as he’s able to allow himself and regardless of whether or not it annoys him.

Speaking of annoying…Tony has been trying to convince him to start going out with them for the past ten minutes or so. Koschei resorts to ignoring him completely, and Tony responds by nudging him in the shoulder and going, “Hey. Hey, Koschei. Hey. Twinky. Hey,” in a deadpan. 

“Tony?” Koschei asks sweetly.

“Yes, Teammate Who Hates All Of Us?”

“I have killed men for less than this.” 

Tony gasps and puts a hand on his chest, looking over at Steve. “/Captain/, I’d like to report a safety breach. I feel threatened.”

Without taking his eyes off the TV, Steve replies, “You’ll be fine,” with a grin in his voice. Koschei smiles his creepiest smile at Tony. Tony moves away. 

“Look, I just don’t understand why you won’t have fun with us! You’re a blast, even if you’re all broody and mysterious and creepy.”

“Gee, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. C’/mon./ Just one party. One. And if you totally hate it, I’ll never bring it up again. But you’ve been here for four months and I don’t even know your favorite color.”

“Yellow.”

“…Really?”

“Yes. It’s the color of life and happiness,” Koschei shrugs. 

“Huh. Still. /Please?/ Don’t underestimate how annoying I can be, Ko-Ko.”  
Koschei murmurs, “I’m definitely not,” under his breath and glances around the room. Steve is still facing the TV, but he’s obviously tuned into the conversation. Sam’s outright staring, eyebrows raised as if to ask, “Well?”, and Bruce is pretending to be absorbed in his book. Koschei sighs; the team has been ridiculously accommodating — he supposes it’s the least he can do. Besides, he doesn’t see the harm in just one party. 

Part of him is immensely grateful that Natasha and Clint are sparring downstairs. Their commentary would be unbearable. 

Tony’s still watching him eagerly, nearly bouncing in his seat, and Koschei sighs again. “/Fine/. Needy human, you are. One party.” Tony is already celebrating, whooping and slinging an arm around Koschei’s shoulders. “/One/.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you. You’ll love it, though, I know you will. It’s tonight, by the way.”

“What.”

“The party. Tonight. Right here. Wear a suit that’ll star-spangle Cap’s banner,” he orders, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as the others laugh. It’s become a “thing” for the team to joke about the two of them, even though nothing has even come close to progressing beyond light flirting. 

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve calls, sounding resigned. 

“I second that,” Koschei says. /Tonight./ Christ. Does he even have a suit? Tony just holds his hands up in mock-surrender and stands, slowly backing out. 

“I’m gonna work. The party’s at eight, E.T. If you’re late, I’ll drag you down here in your underwear.”

When he leaves, Koschei looks around at everyone. “For the record, you’re all rubbish at pretending not to listen.”

No one disagrees with him.

~

As it turns out, Koschei /does/ have a suit, but he does not remember buying it. It’s exactly his size and a gorgeous shade of black, and one glance at the Armani tag tells him exactly who it came from. With a grimace, he accepts the fact that he now has zero reasons to avoid the party and starts getting ready. 

When he does get to the event, he immediately wants to leave. The commons area of the building is decked out in gaudy, rainbow-flashing lights that change direction with the beat of the booming music. It’s packed with people, agents and Avengers and civilians alike all writhing and rocking together to the music. Koschei admits there’s a sort of charm to it all, though. The atmosphere is light-hearted and open, happiness and joy seeming to radiate from everyone in the room. He supposes that’s the real point of parties — not to dance like you’re trying to dry-hump each other to chafing and (he mentally shudders) moist orgasms, but to feed off the enjoyment of others and give off your own. 

Still, though, he loiters stiffly along the sidelines, edging closer to the bar every few beats. He spots a bottle of Macallan 12 on the top shelf and moves a bit faster. No one seems to have noticed him yet, and overly-expensive top-notch single malt scotch sounds /so/ good right now…

Thud.

Koschei jerks back and blinks up at the solid mass he bumped into, immediately meeting Steve Rogers’ kind, stupidly attractive face. He clears his throat awkwardly and straightens his posture. “Steve. Apologies. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” 

“No, no you weren’t,” Steve retorts, grinning down at him. “But then again, neither was I. So no need to apologize.” 

“Ah. Well, in that case, bump into me again and I’ll knock you into another 70-year rest,” Koschei says, keeping his expression neutral and his tone innocent. Steve’s grin widens. 

“You’re the size of my leg, you know. I could probably step on you.”

“Don’t underestimate how much it hurts to be bitten on the ankle.”

“You’re right. Forgive me, oh fearsome munchkin.”

“/Oi/.” 

Steve laughs, tossing his head back, and Koschei’s lips twitch with the urge to follow suit. Banter with Steve is always effortless, calming and cathartic in its ease. They’ve been getting closer and closer recently, edging towards actual friendship, and as terrified as Koschei is, he doesn’t see the harm in letting loose a little. Just a little, mind — he’s certainly relaxed these past few months, but he still has his sense. 

Besides, this is Captain America. He’s quite literally the poster child of all things good and sincere in this country. 

“Let me buy you a drink?” Steve asks, quirking his brows and reaching out a hand to ghost along Koschei’s arm. It’s a casual touch, but Koschei’s chest feels a bit warmer from it. 

“That’s not very professional, Captain,” he replies, only half-joking. Steve shrugs and pushes his hands into the pockets of his /ridiculously well-fitting/ suit that Koschei definitely isn’t checking him out in. 

“Look around — none of this is very professional. We might as well keep with the theme, right? You know, to be polite.” Steve winks at him and Koschei snorts.

“I suppose you’ve a point there, yes. But I like an expensive drink, Steve. It wouldn’t be fair for me to ask you to pay for it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, the bar is free for us. I just wanted to say that line.”

“/Lying?/ My, you are being rather wild tonight, aren’t you?”

“I just can’t be tamed,” Steve flirts, keeping his eyes locked on Koschei’s. “But feel free to try.”

Koschei wheezes. Just a bit.   
“Yo—I—f—.” Koschei clears his throat and tries again. “Drink. Alcohol. Yes.” Nailed it. “I…am thirsty. Must be the heat. It’s hot in here, yes? Is it hot?” Nailing it less. Shut up. Shut up immediately. “Hot.” Incorrect.

Steve is enjoying every second of this, it seems, because his grin is so wide it eclipses the rest of his face. Wordless (for once), he gestures towards the bar, and Koschei practically sprints for it. He orders his scotch and grabs for it the second the bartender puts it down, but Steve snatches it from him with a tut. Koschei stares at him in betrayal. “I have to give it to you,” Steve clarifies, slowly handing it over. “Here. The drink I definitely got you.”

Koschei cracks a small smile at this and raises his drink in thanks, tipping his head. “Thank you, Steve, for this drink you definitely got me.” 

“Not a problem. I’m just that generous,” he says, nodding importantly. Koschei rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his drink, relishing in the vanilla-flavored burn it trails down his throat. He shuts his eyes in content, licking his lips free of stray droplets, and when he opens his eyes again, Steve is blatantly staring at him, cheeks red even in the altered lighting of the party and eyes wide. Koschei can’t help but feel a bit proud of himself for that piece of payback — let Steve get just a tiny taste of his own medicine. 

“It’s delicious, thank you,” Koschei murmurs, taking another (slightly exaggerated) sip. Steve blinks at him wordlessly before laughing, chagrined. 

“Looks delicious,” he volleys back, all confidence returning as easily as only Captain America’s could. Koschei smiles again, just slightly, and keeps the rim of his glass pressed to his lower lip to hide it a little. 

They flirt and tease each other for the rest of the party, sticking by each other’s side by an unspoken agreement. At some point, Tony catches Koschei’s eye and gives him a big thumbs up, and Koschei waves back good-naturedly. By the time the party’s over and Koschei collapses into bed, head swimming with scotch and suit finally removed, he’s more contentedly exhausted than sluggishly drained.

And, he thinks, Steve’s laugh echoing in his mind, the party wasn’t that awful after all.


	5. Chapter 4

He thinks of the Doctor far too often. Sometimes, he can pretend he’s moved on, pretend like centuries of fighting and loving weren’t for naught, but reality always catches up to him at the most inopportune moments. For example, now.

Koschei’s enjoying his breakfast with the team, a day after the party. Most of them are nursing hangovers (thank you, Time Lord physiology, for letting him avoid that bit), so the food is wonderfully greasy and bacon-y today. He’s sitting in between Steve and Natasha, listening to them banter with each ear, when Natasha says something just a /bit/ too close to something the Doctor would say, and it’s like his veins turn black and cold just then and there. Everyone else is oblivious and they have no reason not to be; her words were innocuous and meaningless. 

Lots of people say “well” in that tone of voice. Millions. 

He’s very, very careful not to let his inner turmoil show — there is no good that would come of that. There’s no need to make a spectacle of himself. Koschei is both too old and too private a person for that. So, as much as he’d love to jerk up and dash from the kitchen to the relative safety of his room, he just focuses entirely on eating his food and relaxing his muscles, trying to tune out everything else. 

“ — And that’s what I was /saying/. It makes sense, right, Koschei?” Steve’s hard shoulder nudges Koschei’s lightly. Koschei’s head snaps up at the sudden attention and he stares at Steve wide-eyed and silent for a moment before shaking his head to clear it.

“Ah, er….what? Sorry,” he grunts, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat. Natasha chuckles and takes a swig of her orange juice, and Steve’s eyes are practically sparkling with amusement. Koschei shifts a bit with embarrassment. 

“No apologies necessary. I was just explaining to Nat here that there /must/ theoretically be a universe for every fictional story in the world, because you’re pretty solid proof of the multiverse,” Steve says, taking pity. Natasha scoffs.

“And /I/ was saying that that’s preposterous — the multiverse theory is about outcomes and choices, not imagination.”

“Well,” Koschei starts, more grateful for the distraction than they know, “in a way, you’re both right. After all, all the choices we make are based, at least partly, off imagination, are they not? We /imagine/ the best outcome, with help from the data provided, to make our decision. But the problem with your theory, Steve, is that fictional characters never exist. They are not born once they are imagined — they are /always/ imagined. Therefore, there can be no natural occurrence of their existence, no matter the plane of reality, and so there is no set of choices or outcomes that make them real. So…the closest thing to your idea is that there is a universe where, for example, fictional stories were never invented, whether as a whole or as specific ideas. And there are universes with new fictional stories that this universe will never think of.”

Tony and Bruce stare at him like he’s the Messiah, and Natasha grins triumphantly while Steve pouts. Clint and Sam reach for more food, unbothered. 

“So, what you’re saying is that I’m right?” Natasha asks, beaming.

“You’re /both/ right in som—,”

“But I am more right.” 

“…Yes, yes you are. Sorry, Steve.” Koschei pats his arm reassuringly and Steve huffs.

“But wait,” he says, “the multiverse theory says that there are infinite parallel universes with each and every possible choice or decision. How can that be true if it only operates in the realm of reality?”

“Because infinity already /exists/ in the realm of reality, Steve, just not as a tangible number or idea. We don’t reach infinity; we build it,” Natasha replies, popping a piece of bacon into her mouth.

“Wait!” Tony calls from the other end of the table, leaning forward onto his forearms. “Ko, you’re from a universe where we don’t exist as anything beyond a comic and movie franchise. Doesn’t that sorta contradict everything you just said?”

“My head hurts,” Clint murmurs, resting his head on Natasha’s shoulder. She pats his back in comfort.

“Ah, now /that/, Tony,” Koschei says, a faint smile on his lips, “is an excellent question, one I’ve been trying to answer since I arrived here. This universe is an exception to the rule. You see, this universe formed before mine. And, if my research is correct, I am not the first person to cross between the two. I /think/ someone from this universe was a bit more than human, and they crossed over into mine and wrote about what they’d learned here, thus making an….almost-paradox, if you will. Your existence in this universe is not because of your lack thereof in mine, but rather the other way around. In my universe, you are fiction because someone found where you are not. Again, though, this is still mostly speculation on my part.” He thinks, for a moment, that the Doctor would’ve loved this conversation. He would’ve (literally) jumped at the chance to teach them. 

“I’m hard,” Tony says bluntly. Bruce nods in agreement and Sam pushes away his plate.

“You had to make a conversation about /science/ sexual, didn’t you?” he grumbles.

“Sex is science, Sam I Am. And come /on/ — this is pornographic.” 

“Don’t call me that.”

“/Anyways/,” Steve cuts in, raising his eyebrows meaningfully at Tony. He smiles warmly at Koschei as he continues, “thank you, Koschei, for that little lesson. Even if it did make me feel a bit stupid.”

“No one is ever stupid for misunderstanding, Steve. All it shows is that you were smart enough to try and understand in the first place, and you found out something you did not know. And, again, you weren’t /that/ wrong,” Koschei says.

“No, no, you were that wrong,” Natasha cuts in sweetly. Steve flips her off and Tony gasps, scandalized. Steve flips him off too. Koschei chuckles a little, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“God, I miss sex,” Bruce sighs. Clint gives him an extra piece of bacon as consolation and the team lapses back into an easy silence only broken by polite requests for plates to be passed and meetings to be confirmed.

And that’s them. That’s the Avengers, behind the cameras and the fights and the overwhelming spotlight that seems to follow them everywhere they go. They’re rowdy and playful and so, so achingly human that Koschei can hardly remember just how different they are from the rest of the Earth’s population. How can the most human humans be such outcasts? How can they fit with him so flawlessly he feels like he’s finally found a home? 

Koschei didn’t have friends other than the Doctor on Gallifrey. Most of their peers at the Academy saw him as the weird shy kid who heard drums in his head and followed Theta like a lost puppy. Which, granted, isn’t exactly inaccurate, but it was too different for anyone to care about learning more about him. The Master, he thinks, hated this more than he did. Koschei was fine with isolation — the Doctor was all he needed and all he wanted. But the Master, still young but growing stronger every day, roared with outrage at being ignored and taunted just for being “off,” demanded attention and praise for their intellect and potential. The Master would growl in the back of Koschei’s head whenever he let the Doctor copy his answers, scolding Koschei for “encouraging” the notion that they didn’t deserve acknowledgement for their achievements. 

Koschei just liked seeing the Doctor’s grateful smile when he passed his paper over. The Master, to his chagrin, couldn’t disagree with that. 

Now, though, as he looks over at his teammates, lingering on Steve’s tired smile as he and Sam chat quietly to each other, he thinks he might like this too. 

Maybe he doesn’t have to be on his guard as much as he thought he did. Maybe. 

~  
The next fight he’s a part of is messier, far more dangerous than the first. The creatures are shrieking, faceless, terrifying figures that, while human-sized, seem to have enough individual strength to hurl cars and large hunks of metal debris without breaking a sweat. And there are hundreds of them. Around them, civilians run and scream as they try to find shelter, clinging to their loved ones and casting these hopeful, desperate looks at Koschei whenever he meets their eyes. 

Nothing motivates better than someone else’s faith in you. 

To make matters worse, though, Clint and Natasha are both on a mission somewhere in Russia, which means only Sam, Tony, Steve, and himself remain. Steve had quickly decided the obvious: Sam and Tony keep to the skies, firing from above and saving anyone who may be falling, while Koschei and Steve cover the ground. Everything seems to be going according to plan, with more and more of the faceless monsters’ corpses littering the streets, until Koschei hears Steve’s strangled cry, a mix of exertion and fear, and stops dead in his tracks. 

Whirling around, the first thing he sees is Steve’s face red with effort, eyes wide and determined. The next is what appears to be a crushed, beaten, but mostly whole SUV being held above his head, obviously having been thrown at him. It’s visibly getting too heavy for Steve to hold, and Koschei can already see what Steve has undoubtedly spotted himself: there’s nowhere safe to put the vehicle down. The civilians are huddled behind him, and the ground in front of him already threatens to crack into a sinkhole from the fight. 

It’s an almost unconscious move to race over and swiftly shove Steve out of the way, holding up the SUV himself before shouting Tony’s name and launching it upwards with all the strength he had in him. Tony doesn’t disappoint; a second later, red and gold flashes into the car and hauls it up, thrusters on full, until it can be safely rested on the roof of a nearby building. 

Koschei sighs in relief. He takes a moment to catch his breath before turning and offering Steve a hand, who takes it gladly as he stands up with a warm, almost awe-filled smile on his face. “Thank you,” Steve says, holding his hand for just a moment too long. Cameras are flashing around him. “It’s been a long time since someone’s saved me instead of the other way around.” 

With an embarrassed shrug, Koschei glances down at his feet before looking over at the last of the shrieking creatures. “We’re a team, aren’t we? I’d be a pretty rubbish teammate if I let you get crushed by an SUV.” Steve laughs and nods in agreement, patting Koschei’s back with a friendly hand. 

“Still. Thank you. It’s nice to have you lookin’ out for me.” 

“My pleasure. Any time.” 

With a beaming smile and a wink, Steve salutes him quickly before going off to win the fight.


	6. Chapter 5

Everyone but Steve caught on far too quickly for Koschei’s liking. It started with Natasha.

~

“You know, Steve’s not as stuck in the past as most people seem to think,” she says one day, as she and Koschei remove their sparring gear. He frowns at her for a moment, trying to figure out what sparked the conversation. The rest of the team is oblivious around them and Koschei catches a quick glimpse of Steve’s sweat-slicked chest as he walks to the showers. He clears his throat and looks down.

“That’s…good,” he finally replies, sitting down to unlace his sneakers. She smirks at him and grabs her workout bag, giving him a knowing and only-slightly condescending pat on the shoulder before walking away. He shakes his head to himself and desperately hopes he’s not as obvious as she made it seem. 

Christ, he’s too old for this.

~

Tony was next, practically cornering him in his room about it.

~

“Tony, we have a meeting in five minutes; this really isn’t a good ti—,” Koschei starts, trying to close his door.

“Eh, you’re a Time Wizard or something, you’ll make it work,” Tony replies, shoving his way into Koschei’s room like he owns the place. Technically, he does, but it’s the principle of the thing, dammit. 

“Time /Lord/. And that is not how it works.” 

“Fascinating. Anyways, let’s talk about your crush on America’s Favorite Ken-Doll Douchebag.” He grins and claps his hands together, rubbing them mischievously. It reminds Koschei of that yellow Burns man on TV. Koschei coughs self-consciously and crosses his arms over his chest.

“That’s not a very nice way to refer to him. He’s our Captain.”

“Ah, so you admit the crush.”

“I— /no./ I most certainly do not admit to any ‘crush.’ Do you know how old I am?” Koschei raises his eyebrows. Tony puffs out air and rolls his eyes upward.

“Like…500 or something? I wasn’t really paying attention to anything beyond the whole ‘hot British alien’ thing you got goin’ on.”

There are so many things Koschei needs to ignore about that sentence. 

“1513, Tony.”

“Shit.”

“Quite. Far too old to have a crush, don’t you think?”

“Nah. I mean, Hugh Hefner still has girlfriends and he’s about that old.”

“I don’t kno—,” Koschei starts, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Don’t worry about it, champ.” 

Koschei blinks at him, mouth open a bit before he shuts it and shakes his head.

“Right. Anyways. Why are you here again?”

“Because,” Tony hums, slinging a friendly arm around Koschei’s shoulders, “I wanna know what the fuck you plan to do about your not-crush.”

“/Nothing/. I don’t know what you’re talking about. And we need to go,” Koschei responds curtly, extracting himself from Tony’s grip in one smooth movement. Tony holds his hands up in surrender and walks backwards from the room, smirk still very firmly in place.

“Alright, Mad Max. Whatever you say,” he sing-songs, finally turning around.

Koschei curses under his breath and calls out, “Wait!” Tony turns around, eyebrow raised. Koschei sighs and looks down, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. “You’re not…planning on mentioning it to him, are you?”

Tony just looks even smugger, if possible, smirk widening into a full-blown grin. “I’m too old to spread rumors, don’t you think?” With that, he winks and saunters off.

~

Next was Sam, although that encounter was less….mocking, than the others.

~

“If you hurt him,” Sam begins, voice low and threatening. He’s leaning against the fridge and was doing so completely in the dark until Koschei flipped on the lights and promptly had a heart attack. “I will sell your body to Area 51. In pieces.”

Once Koschei remembers how to breathe properly, he tilts his head at Sam, eyes narrowed in confusion. “…If I hurt…?”

“C’mon, man,” he snarks, frightening mask cracking as he shakes his head. “/Steve./ My best friend. Our Captain. You know, the one you have the hots for?”

“I /don’t/. Why does everyone keep saying I do?” Koschei groans, dropping down into a kitchen chair. 

“Yesterday, after training, he accidentally got lotion on his cheek and you practically came in your pants.”

Alright, yeah. That did almost happen. /Almost./

“…Almost.”

Sam’s answering look is enough to make it very, very clear that he means his threat whole-heartedly. Koschei respects that about him. Loyalty like that is nice to see. He gives Sam a little smile, just a quick quirk of his lips, and he relaxes his posture. 

“Right, fine. I suppose I haven’t been as subtle as I’d hoped. But Sam, I don’t even plan to make him aware of this…development. At my time of life, with what I’ve been through…,” Koschei trails off, getting lost in memories for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing. “I am hardly interested in a relationship with /anyone./ Besides, I am fairly certain he feels nothing in return, — which is /fine/, by the way, this isn’t high school — so —,”

“Koschei.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you do with him as long as it’s consensual and requited. Just don't hurt him. Sound good?”

“….Yes.”

“Good.” And just like that, Sam’s all smiles and warmth again, plopping down next to Koschei at the table. “So how are you gonna ask him out again?”

Koschei groans. 

~

Only a short while after that, it seems like everyone and their mother knows about Koschei’s not-so-secret feelings for Steve, while Steve himself remains blissfully unaware of the entire ordeal. Even fans have started asking Koschei about it as they stop for autographs in public now. They all titter and giggle as Koschei signs their stuff and poses for pictures, before the bravest one steps forward and shyly asks how Steve’s doing with a coy eyebrow waggle or wink. Every time, Koschei just mutters something general and ushers them off as quickly as possible.

He’s not even used to the idea of having “fans” yet. It’s both endearing and irritating, depending on the day. Right now, it’s mostly the latter.

Koschei’s been on the team for seven months now, and during this time, the press has been blessedly unobtrusive into his personal life. It seems like all the media cares about is his sexual orientation and how many…appendages…he has (seriously, the human obsession with the genitalia of strangers is a bit worrying), and other than that, he’s practically invisible. Not that Koschei’s complaining, of course.

He should’ve known that wouldn’t last. Not with the entirety of the Avengers’ fanbase buzzing about their new favorite “ship” to obsess about. In the recent weeks, Koschei’s “crush” has gone from lighthearted speculation to the talk of the town. There are entire Tumblr blogs dedicated to fighting for the proper “name” for the hypothetical relationship (“are you a Stoschei bisexual or a Keve bisexual”), and even blogs dedicated to defending his honor and privacy (“They’re real people, have some respect!! They save us for a living and all you care about is if they bone or not?”). Koschei likes those the best, he must admit. But, on some level, he understands the obsession, gets the need to feel closer to one’s heroes by rooting for their personal relationships. 

Still. It was bound to get out at some point. Koschei just would’ve given away his left leg for it to get out /any other way than this./

As of right now, Koschei is watching the showing of Steve’s interview (in the greenroom of said interview, no less) from between his fingers, hunched over on the lumpy, low-budget couch. Natasha rubs his back soothingly (although she is definitely making fun of him), and Tony and Clint can’t stop giggling behind their hands. Sam is smirking with his arms crossed and Bruce is reading a magazine.

Koschei likes Bruce. 

On camera, Steve has gone bright red, his eyes wide as he stammers through his answer. The reporter, bright eyed and bushy tailed and on top of Koschei’s Shit List, has just asked how Steve felt about Koschei’s “steamy crush” on him. 

Steamy. Steamy! How is a crush /steamy!/   
Koschei needs a drink. He idly wonders if Tony would give him the flask he keeps on him. 

“I, er, wh…—I don’t think he has…,” Steve babbles, ram-rod straight in his seat. 

“Oh come on, Captain,” the reporter purrs, leaning forward in her seat, pen poised above her notepad. “/Everyone’s/ buzzing about it. He practically swoons whenever you walk by. Do we have some footage? We do! Let’s show them now.” An alarming number of pictures pop up on the screen, all showing Koschei’s admittedly-obvious dreamy looks at Steve whenever he sees him. Steve looks stunned. Tony is outright cackling with Sam and Clint. Koschei hides his face in Natasha’s shoulder and ignores the quiet laughter that shakes it. 

There’s more stuttering and stammering before Steve seems to reach a resolve, composing himself back into Captain America. He fixes the reporter with a steely glare. “Koschei’s feelings for me — if they are there — are none of your business. They are not even /my/ business. He is a person, not a character, and not a storyline. More than that, he happens to be a person who /saves the world/ for a living, so perhaps instead of trying to humiliate both of us on air for privately having feelings for me, show some respect. 

“I am flattered and honored that he holds me in such high regard. There’s no creepiness, no drama, no story. Just two teammates and great friends, saving the world with an amazing team of people. That’s all that matters. And that’s all I’ll /say/ on the matter. Now — earlier you asked about Natasha’s diet plan. Let me tell you about /mine/.” 

Everyone in the green room is staring at the TV in varying degrees of impressed and shocked. Koschei has such affection and fondness in his chest that he wants nothing more than to curl up in fetal position on the floor right now, but that is typically frowned upon, so he settles for straightening up and staring with the rest of the team. 

Christ, but he likes this man. He likes him a lot. 

“Well,” Tony says, “that was the most Steve answer he could’ve possibly given. How does it feel knowing he knows, Fido?” Koschei opts to ignore the nickname and he shakes his head, at a loss for words.

And then it hits.

Steve knows. Steve /knows./

“Fuck,” Koschei replies eloquently. Tony just laughs and wordlessly passes his flask after all, and Koschei takes a long swig without hesitation.

Fine. This is fine. He is an adult, and this is fine. They are both adults, both older than everyone (or just almost everyone, in Steve’s case), and this is fine. So fine. So what, Steve knows? He can handle this. He can. 

“Fuck,” Koschei says again, voice distinctly higher in pitch. 

“Wait till you two get home for that, eh?” Clint waggles his eyebrows and Sam cracks up again. Koschei seals the flask and launches it at Clint, who dodges it easily.

“My alcohol!” Tony whines. 

When the interview is over about an hour later, Steve walks back into the green room with /zero/ warning whatsoever, and Koschei almost chokes on his tea. He regains his composure and mentally reminds himself of his age in a very firm, Doctor-sounding voice before nodding curtly at Steve. Steve beams at him with a wink, though, and Koschei has never felt less old in his entire life. 

Steve knows, yes, but he also rejected him. Indirectly, but definitely. Koschei needs to make sure he doesn’t act any differently around him at all. None of this is a shock, but he wishes he had time to prepare for it. 

The ride back to the tower is silent, but not uncomfortable. Steve, true to his words, does not seem at all affected by what he’s learned, and so he’s sitting next to Koschei and idly sketching in his sketchbook. Their thighs are pressed together and Koschei very much does /not/ notice it more than usual. Nor does he notice the warm brushes of skin whenever Steve’s arm draws a wide enough line, or the homey smell of leather from his jacket. He does not. None of this is important, and so he does not notice it. 

Koschei sighs to himself and shuts his eyes, leaning his head against the cool glass of the windowpane and drifting off to sleep. 

This is fine.


	7. Chapter 6

This is not fine. 

Steve, all innocence and sincerity, had stopped by Koschei’s room late that same night and asked to talk, smiling timidly with warm eyes. It actually hurt to look at him. 

Koschei straightens up in bed and puts his book to the side, hands folding neatly in his lap. He’s been mentally preparing himself for this talk for hours now, but he’d hoped it would be at least twenty-four hours before it actually happened. 

“Yes?” Koschei prompts, keeping his voice light and even. Steve smiles a bit more and awkwardly shuts the door behind him, standing shyly at the edge of the room. Christ, if Koschei is /already/ making him uncomfortable…

“Was the reporter right?” Steve blurts out, probably louder than he intended. He pauses and blushes, staring down at his feet and looking far more like a kid from Brooklyn than a powerful hero. “I-I mean…those pictures could’ve been photoshopped or she could’ve just tricked me, somehow, but you haven’t said anything and everyone keeps…keeps /smirking/ at me?” Koschei groans. “You too, then. So. Is it true? Do you have feelings for me?” 

Koschei stays silent for a few moments, trying his words in his head before answering slowly, “Would it bother you if I did?”

“No!” he gasps, almost too quickly to be sincere. He smiles at Koschei again and continues. “No. Not at all.”

“…Then yes. Yes, I do. But I assure you, I have no interest in any childish games or attempts to ‘woo’ you, as the humans are wont to do. And…I do not /swoon/,” Koschei says, huffing just a bit at the end. Steve laughs, light and airy, and walks further into the room. Koschei’s hands fist in his lap.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Why would I?” 

Steve quirks a teasing eyebrow at him, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Come on, really? I haven’t exactly been /subtle/.” At Koschei’s lost (and somewhat frightened) look, he stops teasing, instead smiling warmly at him and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Koschei, I’ve been trying to get your attention for /months./ I’ve had a crush on you since, pretty much, the moment you arrived.” 

Koschei really wants to say something eloquent. He wants to say something that conveys the shock and selfish hope lodged in between his hearts, something that shows just how oblivious he’s been. All he can choke out, though, is, “What?” Steve chuckles and for a moment Koschei’s stomach drops and he’s preparing himself to be mocked for believing him, but then Steve takes his hand and slides closer, his eyes kind and earnest. 

“You stood there all professional and collected, practically in Parade’s Rest, looking like the most boring guy in the world. And then the first thing out of your mouth is sarcasm and wit, and Fury’s listing all these /incredible/ things about you but I’m too impressed with all the ‘normal’ parts of you to notice. 

“And you were immediately kind, practically oozing respect and understanding, and when you looked at me you seemed to pick me apart without judging anything you found. It was amazing. You’re amazing. And,” he adds cheekily, “you’re /really/ attractive. I don’t know if I’m jealous or swooning around you half the time.” Koschei lets out a slightly hysterical laugh at that and tries to focus on making sure his hand doesn’t shake in Steve’s grip. 

“This is, um…unexpected. Incredibly unexpected.” Koschei clears his throat uncomfortably, still in shock at all of this. He can’t bring himself to look at Steve’s face — the expression he’s wearing is just too much, especially on top of this. “I…I must admit, I’m rather out of my depth here.”

“So am I,” Steve admits, sounding nervous for the first time in their conversation. “So let’s start off simple. Dinner?”

And just like that, the spell is broken. Koschei gently pulls his hand from Steve’s grip and slides off the bed, staring out his window to avoid seeing the hurt look on Steve’s face. If only something like this were simple by any stretch of the imagination. Koschei can’t do romantic relationships. Not now, not after Theta. How could he possibly trust anyone with that part of himself again? 

“Koschei?” Steve asks. All traces of joking and teasing are gone and Koschei hates himself just a little bit for it. 

“Forgive me, Steve. You haven’t done anything wrong; I just…I’m going to have to decline. I don’t date. Romance is off the table for me. It has to be.” And it does. Even if Koschei could try to believe Steve, he is fairly certain he’s incapable of having a healthy relationship. Steve may have baggage, but Koschei’s could fill airports. And that’s just not fair to force on anyone. 

Steve’s suddenly behind him, large hands resting warm and heavy on Koschei’s shoulders as they gently turn him around so they’re face to face. There’s no anger or judgement in his expression, just concern and a little bit of sadness written in the creases of his eyes. “Koschei, I don’t understand. You openly admitted to having feelings for me, and I’m openly admitting to having feelings for you. Is that not enough?” Koschei can’t help but smile a little at that, sighing.

“Oh, you humans. No matter how old you are, you are still so very naive.” At Steve’s quirked eyebrow, he continues quickly. “That wasn’t an insult. I envy it. I wish I shared it. Steve, you do not know me. You know what I have allowed you to know, but you do not know what I’ve been through and what I’ve done. I’m not someone you want a relationship with. Please, trust me on that.” 

“And why can’t I find that out for myself, hmm? You’re right; I don’t know you very well. But I really like what I do know, and I want to know more.”

“You won’t like everything. Really, Steve, you don’t want this.”

“No one likes everything about everyone. But I’m okay with that.”

Koschei sighs again, but he’s not smiling anymore. How he wishes he could make Steve understand that Koschei isn’t just being melodramatic. Steve quirks a brow at him and suddenly the teasing is back, and he’s slowly walking Koschei backwards until he’s pressing him against the wall. Koschei’s eyes are wide and shocked as they stare up at him, blushing up to the tips of his ears, lips pursed nervously. 

“You know what?” Steve murmurs, low and sensual as he leans down. Lust twists hot in Koschei’s gut and he can’t even choke out a reply. Steve smirks and tilts his head until his lips brush against the lobe of Koschei’s ear. “All these reasons why you won’t date me, and not once have you said you didn’t want to. Say no, Koschei. Say you don’t want to.”

Koschei has never been cornered like this before. His hearts are hammering in his chest and his legs are weak, but Steve’s right. He can’t say it. He can’t look Steve in the eye and say he doesn’t want him. “And if I don’t?” Koschei finally rasps, holding himself very, very still.

“Then I’ll convince you. Every day, in every way I can, until you either tell me to stop or agree to give us a chance.” 

“You couldn’t.”

“You should know better than to challenge me.”

“Aren’t you a virgin?” Koschei asks weakly. He hadn’t meant it to come out /quite/ like that but Steve doesn’t take offense, the giggling he lets out ghosting over Koschei’s neck and sending shivers down his spine.

“Doll, I was an art student. And then I was in the army.” 

The very last thing Koschei wants to think about right now is Steve sleeping with another man in his army fatigues. He’s already one flirt away from another part of his body poking out and saying yes for him. Koschei just lets out a little “oh” and licks his lips, shutting his eyes to gain his bearings. When he re-opens them, Steve is staring directly at him, eyes dark and hungry. He looks like he’s about to kiss Koschei for a moment but he doesn’t, sensing something, and Koschei is so grateful he could cry. Instead, all Steve does is lean in a little more, press Koschei against the wall a little more, and make Koschei fall for him a little more. 

“Do we have a bet?” Steve presses. 

Koschei could say no. He knows he could — if anyone’s going to respect consent, it’s Steve Rogers. He could say no and Steve would back off and never bring it up again, and Koschei could continue to exist in his little safe bubble of almost-isolation from everyone in his life, and they would never be more than friends. He wouldn’t be pressured or mocked or yelled at. 

Koschei knows this.

And yet, instead of saying no, he tilts his head up defiantly and finally looks Steve in the eye, saying with all the conviction he can muster, “You’re on.”


	8. Chapter 7

The internet catches on immediately. This does not surprise Koschei in the slightest. At first, the collective idea is that he and Steve are dating, but Steve (the arsehole) put a stop to that with one short tweet. 

“@CaptainAmerica: NO Koschei and I r not dating. Yet ;) #GonnaConvinceHim #Stoschei!!!” 

As the Twitterverse collectively implodes, Koschei glances up from his StarkPhone (every Avenger is required to own one, according to Tony) and raises an eyebrow at Steve from across the breakfast table. Bruce, who had read the tweet at the same time, hides a smile by shoving a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Really?” Koschei intones. 

“Really,” Steve replies, winking at him as he sips his orange juice.  
Sam looks between the two of them for a moment before leaning back in his seat with a loud sigh. “Alright, someone’s gonna have to explain what just went down. You two fuck yet?” Tony guffaws with Clint, and even Natasha looks like she’s fighting a laugh. Koschei turns bright red and sputters. 

Steve, however, just grins. 

Koschei clears his throat a couple of times before speaking. “/No/,” he squeaks, before clearing his throat once more and trying again. “No,” his voice is normal, now, “we most certainly did not.”

“Yet.”

“/Shush, Steve/.”

And everyone’s laughing again. 

Through the laughter, Steve catches Koschei’s eye and Koschei immediately sees the question in his gaze, a single note of seriousness through this all. “Was that too far?” it asks. Koschei’s lips quirk up just a bit before he winks, and just like that Steve’s face is lighting up again. The exchange lasted maybe two seconds. No one noticed, no one suspected.

Koschei knows that Steve knows that’s just how Koschei likes it. 

~

Only two weeks later, and Koschei’s already about to cave. So much for self-control. 

The evening starts off normally — everyone retires to bed, and Koschei is sitting on his bed and reading one of Tony’s papers on thermonuclear dynamics to relax himself. Rain begins to trickle down outside, the sound calm and soothing as it beats against the windowpane. Everything is warm and comfortable and soft, lulling Koschei into a peaceful exhaustion that sits heavy in his bones, leaves his mind pleasantly too fuzzy to pay attention to his reading. 

Then the thunder starts. And rather than the rolling rumble that grows in a steady crescendo before tapering off again, this thunder cracks like a whip outside his window, ear-piercingly loud enough to shake the tower just slightly. Koschei jumps so violently he throws the papers around, jumbling up their order and littering the bed. He curses under his breath, shaking hands trying to right them before another crack of thunder echoes through the room and he jumps all over again. Onetwothreefour.

He forces himself to pause and take a few deep breaths, his hearts hammering in his chest. Thunder like this never gets along with him. It reminds him too much of his past, of the violent loudness the Master wrought and all the torture he both endured and inflicted, of the drums themselves booming in endless rhythm behind his temples. 

CRACK!

Breathe. Breathe. Slowly. Breathe. 

Onetwothreefour.

In, out. In, out. 

Grow up. Grow /up./

CRACK!

What would the Doctor think? Onetwothreefour.

A desperate whimper of a sound escapes his throat unbidden, and Koschei just shuffles up the papers and puts them on his bedside table, heedless of order with a silent apology to Tony and a vow to fix them tomorrow. He draws his knees to his chest and embraces them, buries his face into them as he trembles and tries to control himself with all he has. Onetwothreefour. Onetwothreefour. 

Shouldn’t he be too old for this?

Why isn’t he too old for this?

CRACK!!!

Onetwothreefour. 

“/No/,” Koschei grits out, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. 

Onetwothreefour — the Master’s laughter booming in his mind, almost louder than the thunder — onetwothreefour — the Doctor’s disappointment and rage, eyes cold as ice — onetwothreefour —

His bedroom door opens quietly before clicking shut, and Koschei senses a presence in his room but he doesn’t lift his head, isn’t even sure if he can. Onetwothreefour. Footsteps approach him slowly, too measured to be leisurely, and then a warm, blessedly familiar hand rests on his back. Koschei trembles, just slightly, and when another crack of thunder sounds, he flinches away so violently he knows whoever’s in here jumped with him. 

“Koschei,” Steve’s voice whispers, piercing through the haze, a grappling hook back to reality. He isn’t sure if he makes a sound in reply, but a moment later the bed dips under a new weight and strong arms pull him into Steve’s lap. Koschei wants to fight it. He wants to struggle and protest at the childlike treatment, but /onetwothreefour/ maybe he needs to stop acting his age for a bit. He’s already so drained…

Koschei sags against Steve’s chest, unraveling himself just enough to clutch onto Steve’s shirt and press as close as humanly possible, losing himself in the gentle safety Steve always seems to exude. Slowly, as if to avoid spooking him, Steve lies down on the bed until Koschei is using him as a mattress, legs tangled together as he clings to him like a lifeline. Steve gently rubs soothing circles into Koschei’s back with one hand as the other keeps a firm hold of his waist, his face buried into Koschei’s hair. “I hate the thunder, too,” Steve mumbles, like an afterthought. “Woke me up. Had a little panic attack of my own and all I could think about was how you’d probably be in the same boat.” Koschei shudders in response, and when thunder cracks and both of them jump again, he realizes that it wasn’t himself who scared Steve when he first came in. Steve inhales shakily and nuzzles the top of Koschei’s head before pressing a soft kiss there. “Sam, too, but if I tried to do this with him he’d probably shoot me on the spot.” 

Even through the insanity, the thought makes Koschei let out a little breathless “hah” into Steve’s chest. “I hate this,” he grumbles out weakly. “I’m so /old/, I should have better control —,”

“I’m not exactly a baby, you know,” Steve retorts, but he’s not offended, smiling slightly against him. “No one’s too old to be traumatized, Koschei. Not you or me or anyone else. You’re not to blame for being hurt by someone else. Took me a long time to realize that myself, but it helps a lot to internalize.”

“You sound like a therapist.”

“Well, I’ve seen a lot of them.” 

They start to chuckle, but another crack of thunder shakes the room and Steve’s arms tighten around him in a way that Koschei can’t tell who, exactly, he was trying to comfort. It just makes him burrow closer, pressing a soft kiss to Steve’s chest. “Thank you,” Koschei says after a moment. “For thinking of me. And coming here.” 

“My pleasure. Any time.” One of Steve’s hands moves up to gently knead the back of Koschei’s neck. “Although, it really was slightly for selfish reasons. You seem to be pretty good at saving me when I’m trapped. …Plus, you’re short enough to be a stuffed animal — /ow/ —,” Steve laughs after Koschei thumps him on the chest before they sober up, taking a few silent moments just to hold each other. And then, “Can I stay here tonight?” Steve asks, almost shy in tone. Koschei nods wordlessly and Steve seems to deflate under him in relief, like he really expected to be kicked out. It twists something in Koschei’s chest and makes him tighten his own arms around him. 

A moment later, Steve turns off Koschei’s bedside lamp, casting the room in darkness illuminated only by the less-frequent shocks of lightening in the sky. The rain beats against the windowpane, and every barely-quieting roll of thunder only brings them closer together, until they’re almost the same person, the intimacy of it all like a soothing balm to the scorches of his mind. After a few minutes, Steve dozes off under him, his breath slow and even. The laughter in Koschei’s head fades away. The terror in his hearts pulls back like the tide. The drums retreat back into the dark corners of his memory. 

For the first time in all his life, Koschei sleeps through a storm without thinking another is oncoming, without feeling like he’s drowning, without fearing that he won’t wake up. 

The next morning, he and Steve wake up together and go about their business, but they give each other these private, shy little smiles amidst their usual banter and flirts that hint at what they shared the night before. 

And Koschei feels hope. 

~

The games are never anything too ridiculous or intrusive. Not that Koschei expected anything otherwise, but the constant reassurance that this really /is/ just for fun, and nothing is actually expected of him is, well, reassuring. Sometimes, all Steve does is flirt a bit more, hold his gaze a bit longer, smile when Koschei blushes or stumbles his words. Other times, he’s a bit bolder: a hand distractingly low on his back as they walk to a meeting, leaning in just a bit too close to talk to him, and, one notable time, pinning him underneath him during a sparring session. Koschei’s skin was almost blue by the time he’d left the cold shower he ran to after that. There are more thunder storms, and each one is spent together in one of their rooms in a silent agreement that that boundary is one crossed out of necessity — they need the closeness, they need the calm and intimacy to save them from the ravages of their past. It’s worth the blurred lines. 

They’ve been at this…/arrangement/, for two months now. Almost March, now, the brisk air slowly warming to the early touch of Spring. And as the snow melts around them and robins start to return to the city, Koschei realizes with startling clarity how utterly at peace he is. He sits on the roof of the Tower, overlooking the city backlit with the breaking dawn against a burnt orange sky, and he smiles. 

This planet doesn’t even belong to him. This /universe/ doesn’t. And yet, it all feels more like a home than Gallifrey every did. He has a purpose, here. He has a network of people he likes and trusts, and every stranger he comes across smiles at him, goes out of their way to be friendly, share their excitement. Koschei’s lived almost all his life as a marionette to his own mind, but now he finally feels free. 

And, strangest of all, he can’t help but notice that despite his efforts, he’s slowly and surely falling in love with Steve Rogers. That’s certainly something he never expected to face. It’s….different, though. Different than when he first fell in love with the Doctor. That was a love born of desperation and loneliness, gripping onto the one kind thing in his life with every fiber of his being until nothing independent of him remained. It was fast and reckless and painful, metaphoric shots to his hearts, leaving him scarred and tainted. 

This, however, this love is saccharine. This is syrup, slow and warm and comforting in the pit of his belly. There’s no scar, here, nothing ripping through him. Even so, he’s frightened. There’s still so much about himself that Steve doesn’t know and definitely wouldn't approve of and it halts Koschei in his tracks every time he thinks about finally taking Steve up on his offer. 

He’s simply too old and damaged to have a healthy relationship, and Steve deserves no less than the best. Koschei resigns himself to selfishly indulging in Steve’s antics and flirts, joking along to the fans. It’s enough for him if it guarantees he will never force Steve to bear witness to the demons he hides. 

Suddenly, two large hands curl around Koschei’s shoulders and squeeze gently before massaging the muscles. Koschei’s head lolls forward a bit and he sighs softly, feeling himself relax into the chair. “You should charge for this,” he murmurs. Steve’s rumbling, low chuckle seems to reverberate through the floor. 

“Sounds good to me. Say, a dinner for two? Preferably somewhere disgustingly cliche and romantic with candles in the middle that I have to push away to hold your hand,” Steve says, thumbs gently rubbing the back of Koschei’s neck. 

“Mmm. What’s the point of the candle if you’re just going to push it away?”

“You probably look /amazing/ in candlelight.” 

“Gods, you’re cheesy.”

“I know. It’s almost like I learned to flirt in the 40’s or something.” They laugh together at that before quieting, and for a few wonderful moments, they’re silent — watching the early morning bustle of the city as Steve continues his massage. And then, “Koschei?” Steve’s voice is hesitant, and his hands pause. Koschei twists in his chair to look up at him.

“Yes?”

“…You would tell me, right? If I was making you uncomfortable. Really, actually uncomfortable. Right?” He sounds genuinely scared and it makes Koschei’s hearts twist in his chest. Koschei stands and pushes the chair out of the way, gently grabbing onto one of Steve’s forearms.

“Steve. Do you know how old I am?”

“1513. That doesn’t answer my question,” Steve points out, lips quirking up just slightly.

“Shush, there’s a point. Yes, I am 1513 years old. None of those years were spent frozen in ice, either. I’ve lived through every single one, completely aware.” If not completely in power. “I am /old/, Steve. Far too old to play games and most certainly too old to allow a punk human less than a third of my age do /anything/ I do not completely consent to.” Koschei smiles softly at him, thumb brushing over the crook of Steve’s elbow.

Steve laughs, stepping closer to Koschei and bringing up his free hand to stroke a finger along the line of his jaw. “You still interested in me, Kosch?”

“I’d think that’s pretty obvious,” Koschei murmurs. Insecurity flashes in Steve’s eyes and he averts his gaze, smile saddening. “…Yes, Steve. Yes. I am still very much interested in you. More so every day.” 

“Then why? All joking and teasing aside, why won’t you give us a chance?”

“I’ve told you, Steve, I—,”

“I know, I know, you have a lot of ‘baggage’,” Steve air-quotes. “I don’t care, though. We all have baggage, Koschei. Especially our little circle of friends. You think Natasha’s proud of her past? Think I am? I don’t care if you’re not perfect, Koschei. I don’t want you to be. You’re worth all the baggage in the world.” 

Koschei sighs and shuts his eyes. “Steve, it’s more than that. You’re very sweet, but this — this isn’t…I’m not trying to get you to convince me otherwise. I love what we…have, for lack of a better word. I do. But you deserve far better than anything I am capable of giving you and I am not looking for you to challenge that. If you knew what I’ve done…” Koschei stops himself with a shake of his head, eyes opening again. 

“Tell me,” Steve says softly, hand cupping Koschei’s cheek and guiding him to make eye contact. “What could it /possibly/ be? Until you say no, Koschei, until you actually tell me to back off, I’m going to challenge you. I want you too much to do any less.” 

“Steve…,”

“Please.” 

They stare at each other in silence, Steve’s eyes so wide and pleading that Koschei can’t help but try, just try. “Steve, I…I wasn’t always the good guy. I was…I,” he pauses, mouth opening and closing soundlessly before he shakes his head. He’s about to try again before Steve’s thumb brushes against his lower lip. 

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to say more. I get it, okay? And I don’t feel any differently about you because of it.”

“But you don’t know every—,”

“I don’t need to. Tell me when you’re comfortable, okay? I’m sorry for pushing you.” 

Koschei just shakes his head, licking his lips nervously and gripping Steve’s forearm a little tighter. Steve leans in, just a bit more, and Koschei presses up on his tip-toes, eyes drifting shut.

He can’t do it. Not yet. 

He pulls back suddenly, distancing himself, and Steve stumbles forward for a moment before righting himself, brows furrowed. “Koschei?” he asks. 

“It was like a lucid dream,” Koschei starts, voice thick with emotion but steady. Forcing a doomed relationship on someone isn’t fair, but neither is leading them on with half-truths and empty excuses. Even if Steve hates him after this, even if he gets him kicked off the team, at least he will do so under perfect honesty. Steve listens patiently to his story, his eyes wide and his lips pursed, but he looks concerned instead of disgusted and it just eggs Koschei on further. Even as he stumbles past the details of his relationship with the Doctor and all that happened, he bears his soul. It’s almost too much at times, and he can’t meet Steve’s eye for longer than a fraction of a second lest he break down and lose the bravado that lets him speak. 

When he finishes after what feels like several naked eternities later, he shuts his eyes and his hands clench into fists at his sides. 

And then, the next thing Koschei knows, one of Steve’s hands grips his hip, the other cupping his cheek, and his lips are — /finally/ — on his, with the day’s sun warming them both and casting a halo of yellow light around them. The city smell stops bothering him. The sirens and car horns fade to white noise. The anxious memory of the drums finally come to rest. 

And he is at peace.


	9. Chapter 8

They fight each other only two days later, locked in the blessedly sound-proof space of Steve’s room. Koschei sits tensely on the edge the bed, glaring at the ground and keeping his hands folded in his lap as Steve paces in front of him. 

“I just can’t believe someone so /brilliant/ would willfully ignore the best choice!” Steve snaps. Koschei closes his eyes to calm himself. 

“Do /not/ insult me, Steve. Just because you do not understand why I will not date you—,”

“—I /understand/ fine, regardless of how unintelligent you seem to think I am—,”

“—I do not think you are unintelligent! Your age is not your fault!” 

“Then why are you punishing me for it?!”

“/Christ/, you can be /so selfish/,” Koschei hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose. Steve laughs once, harsh and mirthless.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” 

“Right,” he says, standing up quickly and fixing Steve with a steely look. “I’m done. This is done. Your naivety is not my fault, nor is it my problem. It was wrong of me to think otherwise.” 

Steve freezes in place, shock and hurt mingling with his anger. “So that’s it, huh? Everything’s done, just like that? Just because you can’t stand the fact that I /challenge/ what I don’t understand or agree with instead of blindly obeying you?” 

“Because you won’t /listen to me/!” Koschei throws back. “I’m not doing this for /fun/, Steve! You only heard about the worst part of me a couple days ago — and I glossed over a /lot/, I assure you — and you think there’s absolutely nothing I can say or do that will make you want me less. You ignore the fact that the Master is /still there/, still in the back of my mind regardless of how silent he may be for now, and you ignore the fact that the man I loved and was completely certain loved me back, in fact, did /not/, and my trust is so completely broken that I may never fully believe in your feelings for me!” Koschei takes a deep breath as he pauses, shaking his head and looking away. 

“Steve, you are a wonderful, brilliant man, and I am honored to know you. But you love like a child, and that will not end well for either of us. One day, you may find something out about me and hate me for it, and no sane person alive would blame you for a second.” 

“Tell me,” Steve says suddenly, stopping in front of him and crossing his arms.

“What?”

“Convince me to hate you. Go on. Hit me with your best shot. Give me a real reason to pretend like that kiss didn’t have lifetimes-worth of futures in it.”

Koschei flounders around for a moment, mouth opening and closing silently before he stammers, “I-I…Steve, this is —,”

“—The only way I’ll let you go without a fight, yes.”

They stare silently at each other for a few moments before Koschei drops his gaze and nods. Steve gestures at him to proceed. 

“The Master destroyed planets for fun. Killed innocent people out of boredom, and then /ate/ them. Not even always in that order. He abused his wife, enslaved the friends of his enemy, and upon /succeeding/ in /literally taking over the world/, he killed one-tenth of the Earth’s population /just to prove a point/.” 

Steve doesn’t miss a beat. “That was him. What did you do?” 

“…I…fought? Tried to stop it? But I gave up too easily, I was complicit in—,”

“No.”

“…Pardon?”

“No. Come on, Koschei. That’s bullshit. The Master controlled you for centuries, and you expect me to blame you for getting tired? /Especially/ when that didn’t stop you from trying? If anything, I just like you more now.” 

Koschei barks out an incredulous laugh, nervously combing his fingers through his hair. “Steve, you don’t…you still haven’t seen what I’m capable of. I’m no saint.”

“Neither am I. I didn’t join the War because I thought I’d be hugging Nazis gently until they surrendered and we all got pizza together,” Steve retorts, a faint smile starting to play on his lips. Koschei just shakes his head, speechless. “Doll, look, I’m sorry for yelling and calling you selfish. But you gotta stop using your past as an excuse to ruin your future. And you gotta stop assuming your experience and age means you know /every/ perspective out there. I may be younger than you, but that doesn’t mean you know best all the time.”

“…And what of my trust issues, hmm?”

“I get nervous when my barber is behind me, because even though I feel him cut my hair, I still expect him to cut /me/ instead.”

“…Is that…not normal?” Koschei blinks. Steve’s smile widens.

“Apparently not. But the point is that we /all/ have trust issues. We all have things we might never fully overcome. But if we stop ourselves from taking chances, we let those barriers win, and then it’s game over. I get what he did to you, I do. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to love someone for that long and then be betrayed like that. But — and please, don’t punch me in the face for this — he’s the /only person/ you’ve ever actually been with. I’m sorry, but you can’t reasonably use /one relationship/ to determine how the others will go. 

“We have something worth risking our comfort for, Koschei, and I think you know that. I don’t care what dark side of yourself you may be hiding, and I don’t care what other baggage you’re dragging around with you. All I ask is that you give me the same lack of judgement and condition in return. All I ask is that you, for /once/, allow yourself to be happy. Allow me to /help/ you be happy.” Steve steps closer, gently stroking Koschei’s hair. “We could be /so happy/ together, sweetheart. All joking aside, I don’t care if you never believe my feelings for you. I’ll spend as long as it takes convincing you until you can’t believe anything else ever again. You’re worth that to me. /We/ are worth that to me. What do you say, hmm?” 

“I’m going to outlive you,” Koschei whispers weakly, staring hopelessly into Steve’s eyes as he scrambles to find a reason, any reason, why this is as bad of an idea as he’s convinced himself. “I’ll watch you die, someday. We’re never going to have a happily ever after.” 

“All that phrase means is that we’re happy when we’re together, no matter how long that is. If I die, and you’re by my side, and it’s after years and years of a happy, beautiful, loving relationship…that /is/ happily ever after,” Steve murmurs, thumb brushing Koschei’s temple. Koschei shakily wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, leaning into the touch, and hope blatantly sparks in Steve’s eyes. 

It would be so easy to dive in, to toss caution to the wind and just let himself free-fall into actual, tangible happiness and love. But suddenly all Koschei can think about is what Steve would look like when he realizes Koschei has his own dark side without the Master’s help, how heartbroken he’d be when Koschei still can’t believe Steve loves him after five, ten, fifty years of being together, how disappointed and resentful he’d be when Koschei somehow manages to drag happily ever after through the mud. And he’s weak. God help him, but Koschei is still so weak, still such a prisoner to his own fear and insecurities. 

His hearts are cold stones in his chest as he pulls away from Steve, looking away from the naked pain in his eyes as he turns, and without a single word, Koschei leaves the room.

Silence has never been so loud. 

Koschei almost misses the drums.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update was a bit late!! I may or may not have forgotten the days of the week.

Steve has, for all intents and purposes, given up on him. 

It’s fair, Koschei thinks. There’s only so much patience and hope a person can have before it’s simply too much to bear. Koschei understands that better than anyone. It’s not that Steve is cruel to him — Koschei’s pretty sure Steve isn’t even /capable/ of cruelty, honestly. No, Steve acts completely normal that next day. He greets everyone with a sleepy smile as he makes a beeline for the coffee machine, and if Koschei didn’t know any better, he’d’ve thought he’d just dreamt the whole thing. 

But Steve does not flirt. Not even once. Not only that, he barely acknowledges Koschei’s existence beyond a curt, professional nod and a tight smile, an exchange that lasts barely a second. Just how he likes it. 

Koschei likes it a lot less now. 

And as the hours bleed into days, and days into weeks, that doesn’t change. There’s no fix, no take-back, just two adults who didn’t work out with each other and now live in a constant state of awkward civility. Steve stops tweeting about him, stops flirting entirely, stops even talking to him about anything beyond the team. It would be reassuring, that Koschei’s obvious answer is indeed being taken as seriously as promised, if Koschei didn’t regret said answer with ever fibre of his being. 

The night of the fight, Koschei had locked himself away in his bedroom and sunken down the floor, hands clenched tight in his hair as he allowed himself to be a child again, and he cried and cried like rejecting someone he’s known for less than 2 years is the worst thing to ever happen to him. The problem is that hurt does not have to fight and win against one’s past traumas to be agony. Reaching the edge of a pain threshold is not the first moment pain is felt. 

Koschei’d never learned a lesson so quickly in his life. 

The team very pointedly does not mention the change, but Sam seems a lot less friendly and Nat gives him this pitying look that makes him want to cry. Still, Koschei is constantly plagued with the urge to explain himself to everyone and, even more so, break the laws of Time to lock himself in that room so he can’t run away like the damned coward he is. 

Sometimes, Koschei wonders if Steve really and truly has zero interest in him anymore, but then he catches a glimpse of him when he doesn't know Koschei’s watching and he sees obvious hurt, blatant feeling written into every line on his face, and Koschei wants to run over to him and beg and scream and cry for another chance. He doesn’t, only because some part of him still can’t help but believe this is all for the best. He really, really hates that part of him. 

The media and the fanbase scramble for an explanation, grasping at straws and launching theories that make less and less sense as time goes on. Everyone on the team ignores this completely. Steve and Koschei haven’t agreed to a single interview since their fight in a silent agreement to avoid the trouble altogether. It’s none of their business. It never was in the first place. 

After a month or so, Koschei is back to being the brooding loner of the group, keeping to himself and avoiding any and all social situations like the plague. The only difference this time around is that Steve doesn’t do a damn thing about it. Koschei starts to settle into the new routine, resigning himself to his fate, but life has always had a thing for kicking him when he’s down. 

A bolt of something too powerful to be lightening strikes the middle of their living room at 4 in the morning, and once the first whiff of artron energy reaches Koschei’s nose, he’s out of bed, clothed, and dashing towards it without a second thought. He doesn’t know what he expects to see when he gets there. Fire, perhaps. Scorched furniture, an injured teammate, even the Doctor himself all would’ve been more expected than what Koschei actually sees. 

No fire, no ruined chairs, no injuries, no Doctor. Just, in the center of the room, surrounded by black stains of ash, lay an injured but very alive Dalek bereft of its metal casing. 

The team gathers around it cautiously, everyone waiting for an attack with bated breath. They’re all obviously confused, trying to figure out what it is, when Koschei pushes past them without a word and aims his gun at the creature, hatred burning hot through his veins. As soon as it sees him, the Dalek starts screeching, a terrible, gut-wrenching noise that makes nausea roll Koschei’s gut. 

“Mercy! Mercy!” it shrieks, tentacles weakly grasping at the floor as it tries to move away. Steve, unable to ignore a call like that, addresses Koschei in his famous Captain voice.

“Koschei, put down the gun. This creature is obviously not a threat.”

“How wrong you are,” Koschei grits out, the hand holding the gun as steady as can be. 

“You know what this thing is?” Natasha asks, stepping towards him slowly. Koschei flicks off his safety in response, and the Dalek’s screeching gets louder.

“Do not harm me! Assist! Assist! Mercy!”

“Who am I?” Koschei growls. The Master is not in control here, but he does not need to be. He can play the part just fine. 

“Mercy!” 

“/Who am I/?” he repeats, lunging forward to trap one of the injured tentacles under his shoe, grinding it into the carpet. The pained cry sends a thrill through him, and he adds more weight. 

“Master! You are the Master!” Behind him, Steve inhales sharply and it only enrages Koschei more. He twists his ankle again. 

“I am not. I am Koschei. But my race is the same, my suffering has not changed. /Who am I/?” Despite his rage, his voice is a deadpan, devoid of emotion and the facade of humanity. The Dalek, helpless and very, very aware, flails under Koschei’s shoe.

“Time Lord! Time Lord!” 

“So /why/,” Koschei asks, leaning down to press the barrel of the gun to the Dalek’s head, “should I show you anything even /close/ to mercy? Why shouldn’t I treat you like the filth you are? Why shouldn’t I rip off your limbs, dismember you slowly and carefully, and leave your eyes and vital organs intact so you are forced to watch me destroy you? I should. I should do that, and I should make you witness me eat what I remove, leave you with no doubt in your mind who the dominant species is. I should stretch off your skin and suffocate you with it. I should, and /can/, make you beg for a /mercy/ as sweet as death before I grant it to you out of sheer boredom alone.” As he speaks, he gives no inflection, no hesitation to his words. He never wavers, never yells, never stammers. This is hatred in its purest form.

It is silent around them. No one says a word, no one even breathes. Koschei can feel their stares but he pays them no mind. The Dalek only stares up at him, its struggles weakening with every passing second. 

“You are worse than him,” it finally replies. Koschei isn’t certain if it means the Doctor or the Master, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. Eyes narrowed, he leans in closer. 

“Test me, and you will find out just how true that is.” Suddenly, a heavy, familiar hand rests on Koschei’s shoulder, slowly but firmly pulling him back.

“That’s enough, Koschei,” Steve says. There’s a hint of a tremor in his voice that makes Koschei’s free hand shake for a moment. 

“No. You do not understand. That /thing/ deserves —,”

“—That thing is begging for mercy, injured, and helpless.” 

Koschei opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, another blinding bolt of energy crackles down and everyone jerks back. When the smoke clears, the Dalek is gone and only the ashes around it remain. The suddenness of it all is disquieting, giving everything a sense of wrongness that sits heavy in Koschei’s throat. There’s a beat of stillness before Koschei flicks on the safety of his gun and puts it down, keeping his face expressionless as he turns to the team. They’re all sharing looks of incredulous horror and fear, and he sees Natasha’s hand hover near her own firearm when he looks at her, the posture of his own teammates angled defensively against him.

The separation is tangible.

“Kay,” Tony says, breaking the silence. “So…that was fucking terrifying. Care to share with the class?” Koschei swallows thickly and crosses his arms, the fading adrenaline leaving him exhausted and more vulnerable by the second.

“That was called a Dalek,” Koschei explains, trying to look and sound as non-threatening as possible. /You are not him./ “It is part of a race created for the sole purpose of hatred and genocide, from my universe, not yours. Do not let the guise of helplessness fool you; it is basically an alien Hitler. And it helped destroy my planet. Happily. It kills innocent people just for not being Daleks, and it is directly responsible for the death of my entire race save for myself and one other. And so I am…prejudiced.” He clears his throat self-consciously.

“Yeah, no shit,” Sam scoffs. 

“As reasons go, that’s actually a pretty good one. I’m satisfied,” Tony says, shrugging and dismantling his armor. Natasha straightens up, and Bruce looks a lot less angry. Koschei relaxes, exhaling out a relieved sigh and rubbing his forehead wearily as he casts a furtive glance at the gun. All that rage, all that sadistic fire, and what did it gain him? An unsolved mystery and frightened teammates. The Doctor would be so disappointed in him. 

“Wait, though. Who’s the Master?” Clint interjects, eyebrows raised. Koschei’s about to answer, about to stumble something out that probably won’t make sense, but thankfully he doesn’t get that far.

“What’s important is no one got hurt. Let’s focus on that and get back to sleep, shall we?” Steve presses, a hand suddenly on Koschei’s back. After weeks of nothing, the sudden affection is jarring, and Koschei finds himself fighting the urge to curl himself around Steve like an octopus. 

“Um, are we just going to ignore the fact that we have no idea what just happened?” Bruce asks, hand raised. “Because if that, er, Dalek?” He pauses and looks to Koschei for approval, who nods, before continuing, “is really as dangerous as Koschei says, we now have no idea where it is, why and how it got here, and what it wants to do next.” 

“It’s injured,” Koschei says gruffly, lips pressed into a stern line. “And unarmed. Usually they travel in these…personal tanks, so to speak. I’m guessing it isn’t here on purpose, and it probably went back to my universe when it left.” 

“Should it be that easy to cross between universes?” Tony asks.

“Absolutely not. But…whatever the issue is, it won’t be solved tonight. The breach between universes is not something we can patch with duct tape,” he replies. 

“Yes, so, /as I said before/,” Steve intones, letting some of his Captain voice seep into the words, “Bed. All of you. Not you,” he points at Koschei, “but the rest of you.” 

“Yes, Daddy,” Tony croons, batting his eyelashes. Sam looks vaguely nauseous and high-tails it back to his room, and slowly the others follow, occasionally glancing over their shoulders at him. Koschei watches then leave with a growing sense of dread in his gut, chewing on his lower lip. When they’re alone, Steve slowly sits on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and nodding at the loveseat across from him. After a moment, Koschei sits where he was gestured, wringing his hands in his lap. 

Silence. 

“So,” Steve begins, leaning forward in his seat and meeting Koschei’s eye, “I think it’s safe for me to assume that was the dark side of you that you were trying to hide?” Koschei only nods, pursing his lips uncomfortably. “…Would you have done it? Would you really have done all that to the…thing?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No pause. It makes Steve huff out an awkward laugh.

“Boy, that wasn’t at all difficult for you to answer. Jeez. Um. Have you ever…done anything like that to an innocent person?”

“No,” Koschei responds just as instantly, but this time his brows are furrowed. “I don’t…I don’t /enjoy/ the idea of torture, Steve. Daleks are an exception.” Steve suddenly breaks out into an easy, albeit hesitant grin, and it’s like no time has passed at all.

“Oh. Well, alright then. I accept.”

“…Pardon?”

“I’ve seen the worst of you. I don’t hate you. I don’t want you any less. And, I dunno about you, but I’ve missed you like crazy. Keeping my distance is harder than you can imagine.” 

Koschei is baffled. Beyond baffled. “I—…a creature from another universe pops in, and I threaten to torture and kill it in front of you, and it leaves in an unknown and possibly dangerous manner, and you’re using this as an opportunity to hit on me?!”

“We’re not solving how it got here tonight. We /can/ solve our…personal, issues tonight. So this takes precedent.” 

“Right. You realize you’ve been avoiding me for a month now, yes?”

Steve stands from the couch and moves to sit next to Koschei on the loveseat, sitting far too close for his intentions to be mistakable. He wraps an arm around Koschei’s waist and leans in close, and he is not smiling anymore. “Yes. I…I’m sorry. I was trying to give you space, and, to be honest, I think I needed the distance myself. As crazy as I am about you, Kosch, it ain’t exactly fun to be rejected over and over again. And when you ran out that night, I…,” he trails off, shaking his head, and Koschei swears he can feel his hearts breaking in his chest. “It hurt. And my track record with romance hasn’t exactly been the best, so it hurt a bit more. But I’ve been watching you. I can see you, you know.” He leans in, his other hand turning Koschei’s head towards his so Steve can rest their foreheads together. “I see how you look at me, and I see how you look at me when you see how I look at you. It doesn’t take a genius alien to figure out you regret running. I know, Koschei. I /know/.” 

The fight is gone from him almost instantly, and Koschei sags into Steve’s embrace, both arms wrapping around him so he can press as close as possible and nose into his neck. He doesn’t say anything, and for perhaps the first time, he doesn’t feel like he needs to. Steve knows. Steve always knows. “Can we be done with this now?” Steve murmurs, lips brushing the crown of Koschei’s head. “Can I finally help you and love you the way I want to?”

“I’m so broken, Steve,” Koschei murmurs, voice higher than usual and thick with unshed tears. “I’m not a good per—,”

“Shh. I don’t care. Okay? /I don’t care./ You are to me, doll. You are to me. Let me prove it to you, okay?”

“You /saw/ what I just did, what I wanted to do —,”

“And from the sounds of it, it would’ve been deserved. /Stop/ pushing me away when you obviously don’t want to. Alright? Please? Can we finally start building our happily ever after?” 

Koschei inhales a shuddering breath, eyes squeezed shut as tears finally burn down his cheeks and wet Steve’s neck. All the stress and anger and turmoil of tonight and the weeks previous, and even all the months before that finally and truly get to him. He thinks about the Doctor, thinks about how disappointed he’d be, but Steve…Steve doesn’t put himself above Koschei. Steve doesn’t see himself as a benevolent god in constant need of appeasement and worship, and he doesn’t see Koschei as a subject he occasionally allows to touch him. 

It’s equality. It’s pure equality, with nothing held back, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating and novel and exactly what Koschei needs, what he’s always needed, even if only somewhere in the back of his mind.

No more running. No more cowardice. No more isolation. 

And so, with his hearts threatening to drum out of his chest, Koschei lifts his head and presses a kiss just under Steve’s ear before whispering into it.

“Yes.”


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Final chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who read this Little Fanfic That Could. There WILL be sequels, but I'm doing them as several one-shots: some that advance the story, some that'll be missing chapters, and some that are just trope-y, smutty goodness. Some don't even have Koschei and Steve in them and they're about the other Avengers and their lives in this universe. If you have any suggestions for a one-shot, please let me know in the comments! 
> 
> There will be a one week break of updates after this and then the sequels will start up, as separate fics but linked to the series. 
> 
> (Edit 6/8/17: If you want to read the sequels but are a) daunted by the number of them and/or b) uninterested in background world-building and side-character development, I've compiled a list of sequels you can safely skip, now that the series is done. 
> 
> \- Dear Pepper
> 
> \- Captain America's Speech
> 
> \- Punching Bag
> 
> \- A Message Of Hope
> 
> \- Valentine's Day
> 
> \- Rhodey Rants
> 
> \- Getting Old
> 
> Happy reading!)
> 
> (Oh, also...there's smut in this. I know y'all were waiting for it. I certainly was.)

It’s amazing, in a humbling sort of way, how one can live for over a thousand years and still have so much to learn. For example, Koschei still doesn’t know what precedes the Big Bang. He still hasn’t been to every planet in his universe, or even one other than Earth on this one. He still can’t figure out what Donald Trump is, exactly, and why he enjoys looking to all the world like an angry, racist Cheeto. 

Some things are more fun about to learn than others. Some things are frustrating and useless, only existing to exist rather than actually contributing to the universe around it. Koschei always tires quickly of learning those things.

This, he muses, tracing an idle finger down the warm skin of Steve’s bare torso, will never get tiring. Learning, studying, figuring out every little piece of information that makes Steve who he is, is by far the most interesting subject he’s ever encountered. Koschei hovers over him, taking in how the morning sun casts Steve’s muscles into stark relief, the shadows a gorgeous contrast to his flesh. Steve’s eyes are lightly closed in sleep, lips bitten-red and parted, and his chest rises and falls with every even breath he takes in.

Koschei licks his lips before leaning down and pressing soft, damp kisses to each cheek, trailing them across his jaw and down his neck, all slow and languid in his movements. 

~

“Yes,” Koschei had whispered into Steve’s ear, and it was like a jolt of electricity went through Steve’s body. He’d instantly turned his head to kiss him, deep and hungry, until Koschei’s head was swimming and his hands shook where they gripped onto his shirt. Steve pulled back and looked at him with dark eyes full of intent, silently asking. Always asking. “/Yes/,” Koschei rasped again, yanking him closer to swallow Steve’s reply before it could leave his mouth. 

Steve grunted something guttural and pushed Koschei onto his back, head resting on the arm of the loveseat and legs spreading automatically for him. Steve slotted their hips together, one hand winding into Koschei’s hair and /tugging/ as Koschei’s answering moan made him lose all sense of self-control and restraint. Grinding his hips upward, already hard and throbbing, Koschei moved his hands under Steve’s shirt to cling to him properly as he lost himself in the wet push and slide of their lips, the heat of Steve’s tongue in his mouth. Steve pulled back suddenly, and Koschei craned up to chase his lips before Steve’s hand in his hair stopped him. “We’re on the couch, doll,” Steve breathed out, so quiet Koschei almost missed it.

“They’re asleep,” he huffed, slowly rolling up his hips in an attempt to distract him. It worked for a moment, Steve letting out a growl and grinding forward in a downright /filthy/ swivel of his hips that had Koschei’s back arching off the couch as he gasped, but he came back to himself a moment later and relaxed the hand in Koschei’s hair.

“C’mon,” he murmured, kissing hotly down Koschei’s neck. “Let’s do this in a bed. Or did you forget my room is soundproof?” Steve’s lips curled up into a smirk against his skin, and Koschei didn’t really need any more convincing after that.

~

Steve, Koschei muses, never lets go in his sleep. He didn’t during their little thunderstorm cuddle-sessions, and he didn’t last night. They’d fallen asleep wrapped up in each other, Koschei’s head tucked into the crook of his neck and Steve’s arms wrapped tight around him, and Koschei had expected Steve to let go and roll away once he’d finally dozed off, but it never happened. Even now, Koschei’s (very willingly) held hostage by Steve’s hold, both arms still around his waist like they hadn’t been for hours now. 

Koschei likes a man who can hold on. He didn’t know that until now. 

~

“Hold on,” Steve purred into his ear, slowly and teasingly trailing the flat of his hand up and down Koschei’s inner thigh, all heavy weight and warmth. Koschei groaned in frustration, dragging his nails down Steve’s back as he nipped at the broad shoulder in front of him.

“Stop /teasing/ me, dammit,” he growled, drunk with lust and need. Every part of Steve shook when he laughed, and Koschei fought a smile at it. 

“What ever do you mean~?” he hummed, dragging his hand up to palm over Koschei’s cock, smearing the pre-cum around the head before dancing away again the minute Koschei moaned and bucked towards him. 

“/In me./ Get. In. Me,” Koschei gritted out. He couldn’t imagine he actually sounded threatening right now, but he figured it was worth a shot. If nothing else, it made Steve inhale sharply at the boldness, hand pausing on his thigh. Koschei triumphantly noted that he sounded far less composed when he replied.

“We need lube. Don’t we? Yes,” Steve affirmed (to himself, it seemed). He pressed another kiss to Koschei’s neck before starting to pull away, but Koschei stopped him with a hand around his wrist. 

“We don’t,” Koschei said, giving him a significant look. Steve looked down at him in confusion, brows furrowed.

“I’m pretty sure we do.”

“If I were human, you would be right,” he hinted, raising his eyebrows. Steve blinked rapidly before realization dawned, and he looked down at Koschei with something like awe. 

“You get…,” Steve trailed off, hand wandering between Koschei’s legs to feel for himself. 

“/Yes/,” Koschei hissed out, hips arching off the bed when Steve pressed a finger against his entrance. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, trying to continue somewhat coherently. “We — /ah/ — don’t…expel anything, so, er….so…t-the opening is just for, well…this.” He licked his lips, and when his eyes opened again, Steve was openly watching him with slack-jawed want.

“That is…/so/ hot,” he sighed, instantly pushing two fingers into Koschei’s body. 

~

He wonders if Steve’s always been hairless, or if it was a side effect of the serum. The skin of his chest is baby-soft, Koschei notes as his lips brush over it, without any of the rasp of growing fuzz. Briefly, he imagines what Steve would look like with a full chest of hair, and he has to muffle his laugh into Steve’s shoulder. 

It’s still early out, maybe seven in the morning, and while Steve is usually up and running (literally) by now, their…/activities/ had ended when the sun had already turned the sky dark blue. Koschei’s never been so grateful for the Gallifreyan’s need for less rest than humans. Watching Steve, in all his strength and power, resting and peaceful and warm underneath him is worth more than all the sleep in all the universes. 

~

“/Yes/, yes, yes, yes,” Koschei chanted out, one hand above him and grasping the iron bed frame, the other clinging to Steve’s bicep as three of Steve’s /thickgodsothickandlong/ fingers piston in and out of him. Steve’s forehead rested on Koschei’s chest, obviously positioned so he can watch his own hand moving, and each movement sent electric shocks of pleasure up and down Koschei’s spine. “/Please/,” he finally whined, forcing away the beginnings of orgasm that already twisted and swirled in his groin. “Steve, Christ, /please/, I need you.”

All joking and teasing pushed aside, Steve instantly pulled his fingers out, wiping them carelessly on the duvet as he sat up to position himself. The pure, unadulterated want on Steve’s face as he looked down at him had Koschei groaning wantonly, hips lifting off the bed in invitation. “You’re sure?” Steve asked, voice low and rough as his hands gripped onto Koschei’s hips. 

“If you do not get inside of me /right now/,” Koschei threatened, head lifting to glare at him, but he never finished the sentence because Steve tilted his hips and thrust into him in one smooth movement, stealing the breath straight from his lungs as his eyes slammed shut and his head fell back against the pillows. 

Steve shuddered against him, hands smoothing up Koschei’s flanks as he leaned down to kiss up his neck and whisper into his ear, all tenderness and care. “Good?” he whispered, and despite how obviously /good/ Koschei was right now, he knew the question was genuine. Koschei nodded hastily in response, arms wrapping around Steve’s back as he hooked his legs over his hips to draw him in deeper, both of them moaning out at the feeling. For a few moments, they stayed just like that, suspended in timeless pleasure with all urgency pushed aside, but then Steve shifted his weight just /so/ and it pulled a needy, low sound from Koschei’s throat, and the spell was broken. 

~  
There’s still so much to do. Koschei knows that. An open rift between the universes is not something to ignore, and although Koschei had used it to travel here in the first place, it had been barely noticeable or worthy of even a raised eyebrow at the time. If other things are getting through, if other things are getting through by /accident/, that means it’s grown. That means there is, possibly, a catastrophic breakdown of reality on the horizon.

Koschei knows that.

But, for once, he’s tired of panicking. He’s tired of rushing and running and fighting every waking moment of his life, no matter where he is and what he’s doing. He wants to relax. Even if only for a while, he wants to pretend everything is okay, because more is okay than it’s ever been in his life. 

He has Steve. He’s actually, somehow, managed to find love again, something pure and healthy and /good/ in every way, and he wants to savor that as much as he possibly can. Koschei settles back against him, head on his chest as he trails his fingers down Steve’s arm, tracing the veins that push up against his skin. 

The catastrophe can wait. No matter what’s happening or what may happen in the future, it doesn’t need to happen right now. Of that, Koschei knows for certain. 

~

Steve’s thrusts were hard, punishing, and so /deep/ Koschei could practically feel them in his gut. His ankles were locked tight around Steve’s waist, nails biting into his shoulders as his hips canted up to match the rhythm, mouth open and letting out an endless stream of cries and moans. Steve grunted and groaned into Koschei’s neck with each thrust, his arms shaking by his head, and Koschei knew the force behind every torturous snap of his hips would’ve killed him by now if he were human. 

But he’s not, and so it was just /wonderful./ 

Koschei’s cock dragged against the muscled planes of Steve’s stomach in rhythm, and the added friction was almost too much to bear. He started babbling nonsense, half-pleas and begs for more, harder, /yes/, as every thrust pushed him closer and closer to release. 

“You like that?” Steve suddenly huffed out, breath fanning over Koschei’s ear and making him shudder. “Feel good to be fucked like this, baby?” 

“/Fuck/, yes,” Koschei whined out, the filth from Steve’s mouth far hotter than he could’ve imagined. “Yes, /yes/, don’t /stop/.” 

“Not gonna stop, doll, never gonna stop,” he panted, hands tightening into a bruising grip on Koschei’s hips as he fucked into him with all the strength he had, moaning breathlessly against his skin while Koschei wordlessly cried out. It didn’t take long for Koschei’s sounds to rise in pitch and frequency, taking on an urgent, desperate tone as his orgasm twisted hotter and hotter at the base of his spine and in his balls, drawing them up tightly as he ground upwards. 

“/Closeclosecloseclose/,” he whimpered, writhing and shaking underneath him. If anything, it just spurred Steve on more, making him bite into Koschei’s neck and suck a dark bruise into the skin. 

“/Yes/, come for me,” Steve groaned, thrusts losing all semblance of rhythm the closer he got. “Lemme, /God/, let me see you come for me.” 

“Steve, Steve, oh, /oh, oh/,” Koschei gasped, voice trembling, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain before it finally snapped, Koschei’s back bowing off the bed as he came with Steve’s name on his lips, clenching around Steve’s cock in him and painting their stomachs with his release. A second later, Steve let out a wrecked, almost pained shout into his skin, wet warmth shooting into Koschei and making him moan all over again. 

~

Koschei must’ve fallen asleep again. When he wakes up this time, Steve’s fingers are gently combing through his hair, his lips pressed against his forehead tenderly. “Good morning,” Koschei mumbles, voice still muffled by Steve’s chest.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Steve replies, lips curving into a smile against his skin. “Sleep well?”  
“Mhmmm,” he hums, yawning against his chest and stretching his legs out for a moment before settling once more. “You make an excellent pillow.”

“More like mattress from the looks of it,” Steve chuckles, and Koschei instantly knows he’s teasing and the thought makes him smile and kiss Steve’s chest softly.

“That too.” 

“So,” he starts, shifting them a bit so they’re lying on their sides face to face, “what do we want to do today, hmm? Our first day as a couple.” Steve grins at that, eyes practically sparkling as he trails a hand from Koschei’s cheek all the way down to his hip. 

“Well, we obviously have to tweet about it,” Koschei points out, grinning right back. 

“Oh, of course. With a selfie.”

“…We are naked, you realize.”

“Doll, we could both be wearing parkas and they’d still know what went down last night. You couldn’t look more post-coital if you tried.”

“/Lovely/,” Koschei groans, hiding his face in the pillow. Steve just laughs and peppers the side of Koschei’s head with kisses until he looks up again.

“It /is/ lovely. It’s a good look on you,” Steve grins. 

“You’re already ridiculously cheesy, and it’s only Day One.”

“Oh, baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” He waggles his eyebrows, and Koschei just smiles at him and presses forward, tangling their legs together and wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist.

“I look forward to it,” he murmurs. Steve instantly wraps his arms around him and presses a kiss to the top of his head. 

“So, besides social media control, what /are/ we going to do today? Lots to do, obviously. Lots to work on.” 

Koschei doesn’t even hesitate. 

“Nothing. Let’s do nothing. Just for today.” Steve ponders this for a moment before nodding, holding Koschei just a little bit tighter.

“Nothing it is.”

And so, for the day, they do nothing. No running about, no worrying, no fighting, no packing. Despite every instinct in Koschei’s body, every problem rattling about in his head, they do absolutely nothing at all of substance.

And lo and behold, the world does not end.


End file.
